Confusion of a Battered Soul
by InfinityStar
Summary: Unseen forces battle for Goren's life and his soul. His ultimate fate may very well lie with Melinda Gordon & her ability to interact with those who have not gone into the light as well as with Eames, who must convince him she has not turned against him.
1. Raw Wounds

**A/N: This is a crossover with the wonderful show Ghost Whisperer. It takes place at the end of Season 7 after Frame in CI and at the end of Season 3 of Ghost Whisperer after Pater Familias.**

* * *

**A sensible man will remember that the eyes may be confused in two ways - by a change from light to darkness or from darkness to light; and he will recognize that the same thing happens to the soul.  
-Plato**

* * *

In all her life, Alex Eames had never known a man who made her feel more raw emotion than her partner did. No one could make her so boiling angry or so deeply hurt, and yet, when she was suffering the most pain, he always knew what to say or do to make her feel better. She wished she had the same ability with him.

His moods seemed to revolve around her own emotions. Her feelings toward him were as complicated as he was, but the more she tried to figure them out, the more clear one thing became. Deep inside her, within an ongoing storm of conflicting emotion, existed a single port of calm: love. Her love, however, came with a price. He was a tortured soul. She knew that his mother's death the year before had hit him hard. He had not yet recovered from her death when Gage took it upon himself to "save" him, and his brother's recent death at Nicole Wallace's hand had compounded his already profound grief. His estrangement from Frank only made it worse for him. He had withdrawn into himself and Eames did not know how to reach him, how to help him to deal with his losses. He could be unpredictable, especially after his experience at Tate's, and she wasn't sure how he would respond to her.

Declan Gage had never been her favorite person, but she hated him for what he had done to Goren. Gage had played him for a fool, using his intimate knowledge of Goren's life to frame him for Frank's murder. In spite of the evidence, Eames knew her partner. While Ross began to suspect that the man had finally snapped, Eames gathered the evidence and studied it to find a way to exonerate him. Although Goren had gone off on her, deeply hurt to think she, too, had turned against him, she had been able to finally get him to see that she hadn't, that she never would. He was her partner and she was always in his corner, especially when he needed her most.

After the arrest and interrogation of Gage, Goren was a raw, open wound. The one man he had loved and respected like a father had betrayed him, and that cut him very deeply. With the ferocity of a caged tiger, Eames had shielded him from Ross and the rest of the squad. He neither wanted nor needed sympathy or pity. Once they were clear of the squad room, though, he'd taken off, a wounded animal, gone to find a safe, quiet place to lick his wounds in private. She'd seen it before, but this time, she was troubled because he thought he was alone in the world. For once, though, he was wrong. He wasn't alone; he still had her. The universe, it seemed, had turned against him, except for her, but he did not see it. He was blinded by his pain.

She stopped in at his favorite diner for something to eat, disappointed that he didn't show up for dinner. Worried, she began to search for him, checking all his usual haunts and dropping by his apartment twice. She tried to call him, but he did not answer his phone. Once again, as it had so often lately, her mood shifted toward anger, which was the only emotion she had that would keep her worry at bay. It was so much easier for her to give in to the anger than to the worry, especially with him. It was a war of titans that raged in her heart, anger over worry.

Night had long settled over the city before Eames decided to head for home, her exhaustion finally overriding her deep concern for her partner. She didn't know what else to do. When he was ready, she hoped, he would come to her. Only then would the anger fade away, perhaps collapsing the walls around her heart to allow her love for him to finally shine through.

* * *

Goren sat on his couch, holding a tumbler in both hands as he watched his cell phone. The illuminated screen bore the words _Eames cell_ and the phone moved as it vibrated against the wood of the coffee table. The hum of the phone's vibration against the table was the only sound in the room.

_Eames_. When he lost his temper with Rodgers for failing to keep his trust, Eames had ushered him out of the morgue before Ross had a chance to say anything to him. She had to have interceded on his behalf with the captain-or maybe Rodgers did-because he never got called on the carpet for frightening the M.E. After he finished interrogating Gage, Eames walked out of the squad room with him, making certain no one bothered him, not even Ross. He knew Ross had read the results of his paternity test to her, so she knew exactly what he'd come from. He worried about losing her respect, which was why he hadn't told her. Hell, he'd lost his own self-respect, considering his paternity, but Eames treated him no differently. He had no idea what to make of that.

He remained where he was, his drink untouched, until well after the sun had set. He heard someone in the hall outside the apartment a couple of times, followed by a hesitant knock, but he made no move to answer the door. Every so often, his phone would buzz on the coffee table, but all he could do was stare at it. Suddenly, he felt unsettled, claustrophobic and out-of-place. He needed to get away, away from everything about his life. He needed a break.

Getting up, he moved to set the glass on the coffee table, but he missed and it fell onto the floor, spilling all over the carpet. He ignored it, went into the bedroom and packed a bag. Then he left the apartment, got into his car and headed out of the city. With no real destination in mind, just needing to get away, he simply drove.

* * *

Melinda Gordon put the finishing touches on the gift bag sitting on the counter in front of her. She straightened the bow and, with a smile, handed it to her customer. "Come again," she said brightly.

Not long after the woman left with her purchases, the door opened again. Melinda looked up, expecting Delia Banks, her business partner, with lunch. Instead, a tall man entered the shop, looking fatigued and defeated. She watched him wander around the store. There was something about him, a profound sense of deep sadness, of grief, that drew her to him.

She stepped around the counter and approached him. "Hi. I'm Melinda. Can I help you?"

He looked at her, his dark eyes sad. "Uh, no, I don't think so. I'm looking for, uh, an apology."

"An apology?"

He shrugged, unwilling to explain himself. "I, uhm, I'll just look around, if that's okay."

"Of course. Let me know when you find your apology."

His mouth twitched, and she got the impression he had a nice smile, if he would let it come out. He turned his attention back to the table in front of him. She stepped away from him, but still watched. After a few minutes, she asked, "Do you have any idea what you're looking for?"

He shook his head as he looked at an angel figurine. "Not a clue."

"Maybe if you tell me a little about who you're shopping for...?"

"I don't want to trouble you."

Melinda smiled. "It's no trouble. I'd like to help."

He looked up and studied her for a moment with an intensity she found almost uncomfortable. She took an unconscious step backward. He looked away with a muttered apology, resuming his examination of the knick-knacks on the table in front of him.

Before she could reply to his unnecessary apology, a woman appeared beside him. She was petite and blond, and she circled him like a predator, sizing up its prey. "What's the matter, Bobby?" she taunted. "In trouble again?"

She seemed to take delight in his misery. When she noticed Melinda staring right at her, the expression on her face changed and darkened. "You can see me? How can you see me when he can't?"

"It's a gift," Melinda answered.

The man looked at her. "Excuse me?"

Recovering quickly, she picked up a figurine from the table closest to her and held it up. "It's a gift...for your friend."

"Uh, yes." His eyes shifted to the ceramic statue in her hand, a Hummel figurine. He was very familiar with the work of Sister Maria Innocentia Hummel. He'd brought several of them back from Germany as gifts for his mother. Currently, they were nestled in a box in his bedroom closet. This one was a figure of an angel, looking toward heaven with a bluebird sitting on his finger. The angel had a child's face that was the spitting image of Eames' nephew. Reaching out, he took the figurine from her hand.

Melinda watched him handle the figure with gentle reverence. "Is it for your wife or girlfriend?" she asked softly.

The ghost snorted. "He wishes."

Melinda gave her an annoyed look as the man she called Bobby answered, "Uh, no, neither. She's...she's just a friend."

"Understatement," the ghost taunted.

"Shut up," Melinda hissed.

Bobby looked up at her. "Excuse me?"

She shook her head and smiled at him. "Nothing. What does your friend like?"

"She doesn't like him," the ghost taunted as she continued to circle him. "Not the way he wants her to...or does she, Bobby? Maybe the problem is with you and not with her. But that's something you've heard all your life. It's never them. It's _you_. It's always _you_."

Melinda watched him as he shook his head in answer to her question. She wasn't surprised that he chose not to answer. He looked defeated, and her heart went out to him. She wondered if his depression had to do with his ghost or with the friend she taunted him about. Although she knew he couldn't see or hear the ghost, she wondered if he could sense her presence, and if he could, how much damage she was doing to him.

"It will always be _you_, Bobby," the woman hissed into his ear, and then she was gone.

Melinda watched him move away to wander around the store, noting that he hadn't set down the Hummel. Instead, he cradled it in his hand as he studied a couple of paintings on the wall. He seemed drawn to one in particular, an impressionist seascape. Its muted blues and greens mingling with the earthtones of rock and land to emit a powerful energy. He leaned in to examine the brush strokes of the oil painting, lightly touching the frame. He seemed to know what he was looking at, and Melinda wondered if, perhaps, he was a gallery owner. He turned his head in her direction. "Uh, would I be able to buy this now and pick it up before I leave to go back to the city?"

"Of course. I'd be happy to hang onto it for you."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. After wandering around the rest of the store, he set the Hummel on the counter as well as a musical snow globe of a winter scene mounted on an intricately carved ceramic base. Melinda smiled warmly. "Very nice. These are all for your friend?"

He nodded. "She'll appreciate them."

He pulled out his wallet and opened it. She noticed his city identification card. "You work in the city?"

"Uh, yes. I'm a police officer."

She accepted his credit card and his license, and she ran his purchase through. "Would you like me to wrap these for you? I can have them ready by the time you leave."

"Thanks," he said with a brief smile which did not reach his eyes. She watched him leave the store, joined on the sidewalk by his ghost. Her sensitive heart ached for him, and she made up her mind to help him get rid of his ghost and move on to recover from whatever it was that drove his grief and sorrow, if she could.


	2. Be Careful

**A/N: This chapter, like most of this story, was already roughly fleshed out when I posted the first chapter, but for some reason, polishing it has been like trying to bring out a diamond in the rough with a q-tip. Sorry it's taken so long to try making it shine... I had originally posted this in the crossover category, but I was asked to change it, so I did.  
**

* * *

Later that evening, after a dinner which consisted mainly of half a ham sandwich and two beers, Goren walked back to the hotel. Instead of going to his room, though, he went into the bar.

As he slid onto a stool at the long mahogany bar, the bartender approached him, setting a coaster in front of him. "What can I do ya for?" he asked brightly.

"Glenlivet, neat," Goren requested. "Make it a double."

He slammed his first two drinks, then slowed down, switching from neat to on the rocks. His mind wandered. He thought about Nicole Wallace and Frank, both dead, about Gwen Chapel and Gage, both ill, and, finally, about Eames and the maelstrom of emotion she caused in his soul. Every thought that meandered through his mind only brought him confusion or grief.

Nicole Wallace appeared in the bar, seated on the stool beside him. "Drowning your sorrows, Bobby, or creating more of them?"

She watched him as he continued to drink, wishing there was some way she could make her presence known to him, to increase her ability to torture him. She felt so limited and that was frustrating her. She reached out to touch his arm, angry when it passed right through him. He shifted restlessly. _Coincidence?_ she wondered. She concentrated on touching him but her hand once again passed through his arm. She tried again and again. His agitation increased along with her frustration but she wasn't about to give up. She continued trying to breach the barrier into the physical world. Then, finally, much like staring into one of those Magic Eye pictures until the 3D image popped out, she succeeded. Her ethereal hand made contact, and he felt it. She was now able to physically interact with the world she'd left behind when Declan Gage took her life. She could physically interact with Goren.

He sat up straight and jerked his arm toward his body, looking around, uncertain. Equally surprised but conversely delighted by the sensation of the contact, Wallace laughed. Thrilled with her accomplishment, she touched him again, reveling in his response. "Losing your mind, Bobby?" she taunted, now wishing he could hear her. "Just wait."

Behind her, near the end of the bar, a mist began to form, churning in the mostly still air. It grew denser, roiling with greater intensity as Wallace continued to tease Goren with her new-found ability. Muted colors swirled within the cloud, transforming from blues and greens to more intense reds and oranges. Neither retreating nor advancing, it hovered.

Every time Wallace touched Goren, his agitation increased and the whirling reds of the mist grew darker and more intense. Wallace moved closer, trailing her fingers along Goren's upper arm to his shoulder, delighted again when he jerked away from the sensation, running his hand over his hair in agitation. She laughed happily and vanished. Gradually, the movement within the mist calmed as its color faded to a more sedate blue hue. It remained near Goren as he signaled the bartender for a refill.

* * *

Melinda was sitting on the couch with her laptop when Jim got home from work. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Have you had dinner?"

"No, not yet."

"Mel, it's almost eleven o'clock."

"Is it that late already? I guess I lost track of the time."

He sat beside her and looked at the computer screen. "A new project?"

"Yes," she replied as she returned her attention to the computer. Then she looked at her husband. "His name is Robert Goren. He's a police officer from the city, a detective." She pointed to the computer. "When I ran a search, I came up with two recent obituaries." She brought up the list of search results and pointed to one. "Frances Goren lost her battle with cancer last August. She was a long time resident of the Carmel Ridge Psychiatric Facility. She suffered from schizophrenia and was survived by two sons, Frank and Robert. And then I found an obituary dated just last month for Frank Goren. He died in a fall from his apartment window. A follow-up article stated his death was ruled a homicide."

"So one of them is haunting him?"

"Well, no. A woman _is _haunting him, but she's too young to be his mother. She obviously knows him, but she's malicious."

"An ex-girlfriend?"

"Maybe. He bought some things in the store for someone, a woman friend, and that seemed to irritate her. She seems to think he wants something more from his friend but she won't have him, and that it's his fault."

"What did he buy?"

"An Impressionist painting of a seascape, a Hummel figurine and a snow globe."

"I wouldn't exactly call those courting gifts."

Melinda smiled. "I don't think that's what they are. He said they were were an apology, so whatever his relationship is with this other woman, he thinks he screwed up with her."

From the shadows, Melinda heard a familiar voice. "He should be used to that by now."

Melinda looked in the direction of the voice and the blond ghost came into view. Jim recognized his wife's reaction. "Is she here?" he asked.

"Yes," Melinda answered.

"So he can't see me, either?"

"No, he can't. I'm the only one with that particular gift."

"Aren't you lucky?"

"Who are you?"

"Bobby's fondest dream and his worst nightmare."

"Enough with the riddles. What's your name?"

She smiled a cold smile. The only way Goren would know she was still part of his life was for this woman to tell him she was there. "Nicole," she answered.

"Nicole, you need to cross over into the light and leave Robert alone."

She laughed. "Light? What are you talking about? And why would I want to go anywhere? I am having way too much fun. At first, I wasn't sure what was happening to me. I didn't remember anything. But then, as it began to come back to me and I realized I was dead, I went looking for Bobby. Now that I've found him, I don't plan to give him up. Not to you, not to her...not to anyone. He's _mine_." She reached out and knocked a glass off the coffee table. "Tonight I figured out how to interact with him. Now I can 'reach out and _touch_' him."

The implications in her tone deeply troubled Melinda. "Why him? Were you his girlfriend?"

The ghost laughed again. "No, of course not. We had a much more intimate relationship than that. He pursued me for years but, much to his chagrin, he never caught me. It was a wonderful game of cat and mouse."

"I can help you to finish your business and cross over."

"My business?" she said with interest. Then she gave Melinda an icy smile. "_He_ is my only business now."

She vanished with a windy flourish. The look the ghost gave her before vanishing sent a shiver down Melinda's spine.

"Is she gone?" Jim asked, grabbing at the papers on the coffee table before they scattered.

Very unsettled, Melinda answered, "Yes, she's gone."

"Was she a jilted lover?"

"She says no, their relationship more intimate than that. Her name was Nicole. She said he pursued her, but never caught her. A game of cat and mouse, she called it." She looked at her computer screen. "I wish I could find out more about this ghost and the woman she seems to dislike so much. I'm not going to get a lot from her, and I don't think I'm going to get much more from him."

"What makes you say that?"

"He's so withdrawn, not very prone to personal conversation. He's in a great deal of pain."

Jim went over the things that Melinda had just said in his mind. "You said he's a cop?"

"Yes, in the city."

"So maybe she was a criminal he was after?"

The possibility made Melinda even more nervous. She rose from the couch and stepped into her shoes. "I have to talk to him. I have a bad feeling about this ghost."

"Melinda..."

"Not for me. For him. I'm worried about him. She's figured out how to physically interact with the world of the living. I have to warn him."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

She shook her head. "I'll be fine." She kissed him. "I'll be back soon."

* * *

Melinda entered the lobby of the hotel and approached the desk. "May I help you?" the clerk asked.

"I'm looking for one of your guests. His name is Robert Goren."

The clerk tapped on his keyboard and said, "Room 314."

"Thank you."

She went to the third floor and knocked on the door to his room, but she got no answer. Returning to the lobby, she intended to leave the man a message until she spotted him at the hotel's bar. Nicole was seated on the stool beside him. Shaking her head, Melinda went into the bar.

As she approached Goren, she noticed a mist hovering in the corner, roiling red and orange. No one else in the bar, including Goren, seemed to notice it was there. She sat on the empty stool beside him, sparing a single glare for the ghost who sat at his other side.

He turned his head to see who had joined him, and he was surprised to see her. His earlier agitation had dissipated as he'd continued to drink, and he was now at a point where very little could bother him, where much of his pain slipped away from him. It was right about where he wanted to be. He looked Melinda over, not sure why she was there, as his mind scrambled for something to say that wouldn't sound too lame. "Come here often?" he asked with a lopsided grin. _Lame_, his mind scolded. _That __**was**_ _lame, you idiot._

On the stool opposite Melinda's, Wallace laughed. "Is that the best you can do, Bobby? I'm surprised. Didn't you learn anything from Daddy?"

Ignoring the woman, Melinda gave him a warm smile. "Not very, no."

"Me, neither," he said with a quiet laugh that charmed her.

He raised a hand to signal the bartender, who refilled his glass with Glenlivet. He motioned toward Melinda. "And whatever the lady wants."

"A glass of merlot, thanks," Melinda said.

"Merlot," Goren mused. "Do you know why they call those grapes merlot?"

"No, I don't," she replied, smiling.

"The Old French word for a young blackbird is merlot. The merlot grape is named for a bird." Again he laughed softly. He tipped his head when the bartender set her drink in front of her. "It's the third most popular grape grown in the world. Most merlot wines are fruity. Do you like fruit?"

She was amused by his ramblings. "Yes, I like fruit," she said with a small laugh.

He nodded and took a drink of his scotch. His speech was slow and careful. "Merlot is a good choice. My partner likes red wine, too, with dinner. It's a good wine to pair with meat and salmon. She likes salmon."

She didn't miss the affection in his tone when he talked about his partner. "Your partner...is that who you bought the gifts for?"

He turned his glass a quarter turn to the right, looking into the fluid. "An apology," he said softly. "I...I never meant to hurt her."

Wallace watched the exchange between Goren and Melinda with jealousy. "You never do, Bobby," she taunted. "But it always happens. You always hurt the ones you love, and then you wonder why they never stay."

Melinda glared at the woman. She was a malicious spirit, and her negative energy had to be affecting Goren. "I'm sure she knows that," she said with warm reassurance.

A flicker of hope sparked in his eyes as he gave her a quick glance. "Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do."

Sneering, the ghost said, "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Go away," Melinda hissed.

Goren frowned and looked at her. "Go away?"

Melinda gave him an apologetic smile. "Not you," she insisted.

Confused, Goren looked around, but there was no one nearby. "Then who?" he wondered.

"It's hard to explain."

He nodded slowly, his mind too muddled to search for meaning beyond her words. "It's always hard to explain. I tried to explain, but she didn't want to hear it."

"You are such an easy target, Bobby," Wallace said maliciously.

Focusing her energy, she reached out and touched his cheek. He jerked away from the unexpected sensation and almost fell off the bar stool. Melinda grabbed his arm to balance him, feeling relieved when the ghost vanished. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Okay? I'm not sure I'm ever okay. But I think I'm done here for the night." Melinda noticed his struggle to carefully choose and pronounce each word. Very few of his words were slurred, making it difficult for her to judge just how inebriated he really was. He pulled out his wallet and extracted several bills, which he laid on the bar. "Never okay," he repeated, finishing off his drink. "Not ever. Never. Funny how that word evolved. In Old English, the prefix 'ne-' was used to turn a word into its negative. Ne-ever. Never."

Melinda smiled. As drunk as he was, his intelligence still shone through. Something about him was endearing, and she liked him very much. She also realized this was definitely not the time to tell him he was haunted. He slid off the stool, holding onto the bar until he felt stable. He could not hide his unsteadiness, and it told her he'd been at the bar for a long time. "Here, let me walk you up to your room," she offered.

"You don't have to do that," he said.

"I know, but it would make me feel better if I did."

He watched her slide her arm into his, and he didn't offer any further protest. It was nice to feel cared for again. She guided him through the lobby to the elevator. While they waited for the elevator, Melinda noticed that the mist she'd seen in the bar had followed them, only now, instead of angry roiling reds and oranges, it was calmer, colored in more sedate shades of blues and greens.

When they entered the elevator, the cloud didn't follow them. Goren seemed to get restless in the confined space as they rode to the third floor. Most of his restlessness fell away when the elevator doors opened. She wondered if Nicole knew he was claustrophobic and if she should somehow find a way to warn him to avoid the elevators and other closed-in spaces that made him uncomfortable, at least until she was able to get Nicole to cross over.

When they stopped in front of his room, she released his arm so he could fish his room keycard from his pocket. As he moved it toward the lock, the card slipped through his fingers and hit the floor. Leaning down to pick it up, he lost his balance and tumbled headfirst into the door. He laughed, and she found it difficult not to join him as she grabbed him and helped him to right himself. She bent down to retrieve the card for him. Unlocking the door, she pushed it open. "Here you are," she announced.

As she placed the card into his hand, he leaned toward her out of habit and said, "Thanks for the escort."

"You're welcome," she answered, not finding him intimidating despite his size.

As he stepped into the room, he turned toward her, stumbling back two steps before he caught his balance. "Will you be okay...going home?"

With another smile, Melinda nodded. "I'll be fine, thank you." She paused. "Please be careful, Robert. You could be in danger."

His brow furrowed. "What kind of danger could I be in?"

"Please. Trust me. Just be careful. Good night."

Beyond the confusion in his eyes, she saw his deep sorrow. "Uh, good night."

He backed away from the door and it closed. Melinda looked at the door for a moment. Just as he closed the door, she saw the mist hovering behind him. She had no idea what to make of it, except that it did not seem to be threatening him. Slowly, she turned away and walked toward the elevators. There had to be some way she could help that man not only get rid of the venomous ghost who haunted him, but also find some peace in his own life. She was determined to try.

* * *

Goren didn't put any effort into wondering why Melinda showed up in the hotel bar, but her parting words remained with him. 'Trust me.' She had no idea what a tall order that was for him.

As he stumbled toward the bed, he slipped out of his shirt and undid his belt and his pants. He sat on the bed and kicked off his shoes, then wrestled off his pants and dropped them on the floor. Laying back on the bed, he folded his arms beneath his head. The ghost of Nicole Wallace appeared near the window and watched him before she crossed the room and stretched out on the king sized bed beside him. "So this is what it's like, being in bed with you."

As she had in the bar, she reached out to touch him. With a gasp, he sat up, and the room dipped and spun around him. He closed his eyes, and she laughed at him. "What's the matter, Bobby? Have you forgotten what a woman's touch feels like?"

He continued to look around for a few minutes before he laid back again. The room slowed down to spin in lazy circles and his mind blurred even more. His eyelids began to grow heavy. She touched his shoulder, moving her fingers along his collarbone. He tensed for a moment, but the odd sensation, whatever caused it, felt good. He was in no condition to analyze it, and he began to relax. His eyes eased closed and, in short order, he began to softly snore.

On the floor, his phone had slipped out of his pants pocket, and it began to ring. Wallace moved to the phone and saw that the call was from Eames. She clucked her tongue. "Shame on you, Detective Eames, calling so late."

She pressed a button to silence the device and ignore the call.

Goren never heard the phone ring.

* * *

He woke slowly, aching with need. It was a familiar sensation, the remnant of a recurring dream. Still lingering in the twilight of half-sleep, he slid his hand past the waistband of his boxers. In his sleep-and-alcohol blurred mind, he imagined the strokes came from another hand, one that belonged to someone who knew him, what he liked, what he wanted.

He groaned softly as he dealt with his tension, rolling onto his side and jerking his hips as he came. In recent weeks, his waking hours were numb and it was only in his near-dream state that he could address his body's needs. Laying still for a few moments, he slowly recovered as he slid back into full sleep. Wallace stepped from the shadows in the far corner, smiling a vicious smile. "Is that all the loving you get these days, Bobby?" she said derisively.

She sat on the bed and watched him sleep. "It's a shame I'm dead. I had such a good time setting you up with Dr. Croyden. What's one more body when it would put you through _so _much hell?"

She reached out and ran her fingers across his shoulders and down his back. He trembled at the touch, then sighed softly and drifted into the arms of his partner, the dream lover who saved him from himself.


	3. A Picture Begins to Emerge

Melinda lost the toss to make the mid-morning coffee run the next morning. She entered the coffee shop to find the big, brooding city detective in the corner, reading a newspaper as he drank his coffee and picked at his breakfast. He wasn't quite as alone as he thought he was. In addition to the ghost sitting across from him, Melinda noticed the mist she'd seen the night before, hovering behind him. It was the same roiling red and orange it had been in the bar when Wallace was present. She'd never seen anything like it, but something told her it was related to the spirit world.

She approached cautiously, leaning over to the level of his face. "Hi," she said with a smile and a wave. "Remember me?"

He lowered the paper and looked at her, his expression tired and still tinged with sorrow. His eyes were bloodshot and he was clearly hungover. He studied her face, then nodded. "From the antiques store."

She wasn't surprised he didn't remember seeing her the night before. "Yes. I'm Melinda. And you're Robert, right?"

He looked at her with suspicion, his eyes narrowed, until she explained, "I saw your ID yesterday, when you paid for your 'apology'."

"Apology...?" His confusion cleared as he remembered their conversation from the day before. "Oh...yeah, my apology. Do you remember all your customers?"

"No, not all of them. Just the impressive ones."

His expression turned curious and he motioned toward the empty chair that wasn't really empty. Melinda gave the ghost a quick glare as she moved to sit down. Wallace vanished and Melinda sat in the chair as he said, "How am I impressive?"

"First of all, I love that painting you bought," she said with a smile. "I found it at an estate sale and it's always been one of my favorites."

His mouth formed a ghost of a smile. "What else?"

"I don't know. There's just something about you. You seems so...sad."

He looked down at his coffee. "I've had a difficult year," he explained without going into detail. Calling the last year difficult was an understatement. It had torn him apart and shattered his soul. He had lost everything in his life he had to lose, and though he'd gotten back his badge, he was still working to recover both his equilibrium and his partner's trust.

Melinda glanced past him, at the mist that hovered nearby. With Wallace gone, it no longer roiled, and its color was once again calm blue and green. It seemed to mirror Goren's emotional state, sedate blue-green when he was calm and angry red-orange when he was agitated. She wondered what its connection to him could be.

She knew she had to discuss his ghost with him, but the timing was still not right. Perhaps later in the day, once his hangover had abated, would offer a better opportunity.

He seemed distant, and she took that as a cue to be on her way. "I should be getting back to the shop. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

He nodded briefly, but she knew he would not take her up on her offer. If she was going to help him, it would be of her own accord and not because he asked for her help.

She rose and said, "Please, be careful."

He watched her walk to the counter, order and pay for two cups of coffee. Be careful? This was Grandview, not New York City. What could possibly happen here?

Before leaving the coffee shop, she looked back at Goren, relieved to see that he was still alone. The mist hovering nearby remained calm, and she found that reassuring as well. He was watching her, and she gave him a smile and a wave before stepping through the door. He waved back and then returned to his paper.

* * *

Delia handed several bills and a few coins to a customer, who left with her purchase. Melinda smiled at the customer as she passed her, and she set the coffee on the counter. "Do you mind if I run a quick errand?"

"No, of course not. A ghost errand?"

"Kind of. Do you remember the man who was in here yesterday? The one who bought that painting I like so much?"

"And that sweet Hummel I found in Tarrytown? I remember him. He was very quiet."

She nodded. "He's troubled."

Delia looked concerned. "Troubled as in spooks and spectres?"

"That's part of it. He's suffered some emotional blows over the last year that have left him reeling. He's trying to recover, but he can't get past his pain. His ghost isn't helping matters any, and I haven't figured out how she's connected to him. I'll be back in a little while. Thanks, Delia."

She left the shop and drove to Rockland University. When she arrived at Rick Payne's office, he was eating his lunch. His face broke into a smile when she came into the office. "Hi, Melinda."

"Got a minute?"

"For you, I have two minutes. What's up?"

She sat down and said, "I've run into something I haven't seen before."

He was interested. "Really? Do tell."

"A man came into the shop yesterday. A woman was with him."

"Let me guess—a woman he doesn't know is with him."

She nodded. "Yes, but there's something else. There's a mist of some kind near him."

"A mist, huh? Can you see anyone in the mist?"

She shook her head. "No. It's too dense."

"Do you think it's related to the ghost?"

"I don't think so. I think it has more to do with him. When the ghost is near him, he tends to get agitated and so does this mist. It looks like the weather map of a storm, all red and orange, and it churns like a hurricane."

"What is it like otherwise?"

"When the ghost isn't around, it's a lot calmer, kind of a bluish-green."

"That's very interesting. Red is a very angry color, while blue and green are calm and sedate. Blue symbolizes trust, dependability and commitment. It's a cooling color but it can also symbolize depression. Green has a similar calming effect, and it counters the depressive or sad connotations of blue. Green is the color of life and balance, and it indicates safety, but it can also mean jealousy and envy." He got up and began to look through his bookcases. "I have a book here somewhere... Red and orange, on the other hand, indicate energy. Red is often used to symbolize love but it can also mean anger and danger. Orange symbolizes creativity and change. They are very vibrant, stimulating colors. You mentioned weather radar. Blue and green indicate rain but they bring forth images of gently falling rain, nourishing the planet and giving it life. Red and orange are associated with storms and bring images of torrential rain and wind and anger from the heavens."

"He can't see the mist, so I think its color has more to do with emotion than visual effect."

He pulled a book from a shelf. "Ah, here it is. _The Symbology of Color_—anthropological meaning in the colors of the rainbow." He handed the book to Melinda and said, "What do you know about chakras?"

Melinda looked amused. "Uh—nothing."

"The chakras are based in Indian mysticism and healing—India Indian, not Native American Indian. The word chakra means wheel in Sanskrit. Each one is a center of energy and has an Indian name; I won't embarrass myself by trying to pronounce them. There are seven sacred chakras, each one associated with a different color of the visible spectrum and a different area of the body and the spirit. They run in an ascending line from the base of the spine to the top of the head. The first two chakras—root and sacral—are red and orange. The next one—the power chakra—is yellow. The last four—heart, throat, brow and crown—are green, blue, indigo and violet. Physical health is tied to the health of each chakra. When your chakras are open and in balance, you are healthy, physically and, more importantly, spiritually and emotionally. A lot of the things we associate with the New Age movement, like crystals, meditation and aromatherapy, are tied in with chakras. It's funny how we apply the term New Age to something that's older than Christianity."

"Is this important to what's happening with Robert?"

"It could be. Tell me about his invisible friend."

"I don't know much about her, but I don't think they were friends. She's very malicious, very angry, and very possessive."

"Malicious, angry and possessive? That's not a good combination. What about him? What do you know about him?"

"He's a police detective from the city. He's had two recent deaths in the family—his mother last year and his brother last month, and the ghost is not his mother. His partner is a woman, and he's very close to her, which his ghost doesn't like at all. She seems to be jealous of her."

He sat at his desk and took a bite of his sandwich. "Jealous? Was she an ex?"

"I don't think so. I think she may have been a criminal he was after at some point."

"And now she's haunting him? Because he arrested her?"

She shook her head. "She said he never caught her."

"And criminals always tell the truth, right?"

"Ever the cynic, professor," she said with a smile. "See what you can come up with about what this mist could be."

He returned her smile and nodded. "I'll let you know what I find."

* * *

Melinda locked up her shop at closing time and walked toward her car. In the center of the square, seated on a bench, she saw Goren, hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees, studying his hands. Wallace was nowhere to be seen, but the mist hovered near him, calm and mostly blue.

He stood up and walked down the path away from her. His eyes were downcast, his hands buried in his pockets. Melinda followed him, picking up her pace so she could catch up to him. This might be her best opportunity to talk to him about his ghost. As she walked, she heard a chilling voice behind her. "I told you he's mine and I am taking him."

She spun around, but there was no one behind her. By the time she turned back around, Goren had stopped at the curb, glancing up and down the street. He hesitated to wait for an approaching truck to pass. Wallace suddenly appeared behind him, shoving him forward into the path of the truck.

Melinda screamed, "No!"

The mist moved forward quickly and deliberately, engulfing Goren and somehow countering his forward momentum. As the truck clipped him, he spun and went down, hitting his shoulder and head against the curb. Melinda ran to him, meeting the driver of the truck by Goren's still form. "I felt it when I hit him, but I never saw him!" the driver asserted, concerned and panicked.

From across the square, Jim and his buddy Tim ran toward them, arriving at Melinda's side before the ambulance left the station driveway. "What happened?" Jim asked as he began to examine Goren.

"He should have seen me," the driver insisted. "I wasn't speeding. I swear, I never saw him."

Jim glanced up at Melinda, who had tears in her eyes. It didn't take long for the paramedics to prepare Goren for transport and load him into the ambulance for the five minute ride to the hospital.

Melinda was delayed by the police, but as soon as she was done giving her statement, she hurried to the hospital and met Jim in the emergency room. "How is he?"

"They're working on him. What really happened out there, Melinda?"

"The ghost...she pushed him in front of the truck. But that mist I told you about...it was near him in the square before she appeared. When she shoved him, I think it saved him."

"That explains why he wasn't hurt as badly as I expected."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"I think so," he answered, kissing her cheek. "I'll let you know when I find out anything for sure."

"I'll wait for you."

He nodded and went back into the emergency room.

* * *

About an hour and a half later, Eames entered the emergency room and approached the desk. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Robert Goren. I was called when he was brought in."

"Are you family?"

"The closest thing to family he has. My name is Alexandra Eames." She held out a piece of paper. "I have medical proxy for him."

"Wait here, please."

Melinda watched Eames for a moment before she approached her. Her concern was very obvious. "Excuse me. I overheard you asking for Robert Goren. Are you his partner?"

Eames turned, looking at her with suspicion. "Who are you?"

"My name is Melinda Gordon. I own a shop on the square. He came into my shop the other day."

Eames remained suspicious. "And?"

Melinda's expression turned sympathetic. "And I've tried reaching out to him, but he's not so easy to reach."

"How much luck have you had?"

"Not much," Melinda admitted.

_Neither have I_, Eames thought, hesitating before she asked, in a guarded tone, "How is he doing? I've tried calling him since he left town, but he hasn't answered." She paused for a moment, finally admitting, "I'm worried about him."

Melinda didn't understand why he would ignore her calls. His entire demeanor changed when he talked about his partner; she was important to him. Then she recalled the ghost's venom toward this woman. "You shouldn't blame him. There is a good explanation for that."

Eames glared at her, completely misunderstanding her. She studied Melissa more intently. She didn't seem Goren's type, but so many things about her private, recently taciturn partner surprised her of late. What surprised her even more was the sudden surge of jealousy that swelled into her chest. She chased it away with anger, at herself for feeling that way and at him for being the cause of it. She was also angry with Melinda for being involved with him, and thus being the source of the jealousy she resented feeling.

Melinda watched the emotions that played across Eames' face, realizing she misunderstood what she said. "It's not what you think," Melinda said.

"Oh? What isn't what I think?"

"My husband, Jim, was one of the paramedics who treated him after he was hit this evening. When I met him in my shop, I...felt for him. He seemed...so sad."

Eames gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. Things have been turbulent for us recently. I can be...emotional where he is concerned."

Melinda smiled. "I think he is the same way about you."

Eames looked surprised, but before she could respond, the clerk returned. "Ms. Eames? Come with me, please."

She hesitated for a half second before motioning to Melinda, who followed her into the ER. They met Jim and a doctor just outside the trauma room where Goren lay unconscious. Melinda introduced her husband, who in turn introduced them to the doctor. Eames asked, "How is my partner?"

"He's very fortunate. We closed a laceration in his forehead with four stitches, and he has a concussion, three fractured ribs and extensive bruising on his right side where he was hit. We want to keep him overnight for observation. He'll go upstairs as soon as we have a room ready, if you'll give us consent to admit him."

She nodded. "Whatever he needs. Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes. He'll be fine."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course. He's just beginning to come around. We gave him a dose of pain medicine in his IV; we can give him more if he needs it."

He pushed the door open for her, and Melinda and Jim followed her into the room. Eames stepped up to the bedside where Goren groaned and began to shift. She laid her hand gently on his chest as he became restless. In the past, her light touch had always had a calming effect on him, but when her hand came into contact with his skin, he became more restless. "Bobby," she said softly.

At the sound of her voice, his restless tossing ceased and he relaxed. Groaning, he slowly opened his eyes. "Eames...?"

She tried to smile but she wasn't successful."I can't let you out of my sight, can I?"

He laid his hand over hers. "Wh-what happened?"

"You were hit by a truck," she said. As he tried to recall the event, she added, "At least this one was only an hour drive upstate."

A shadow fell across his eyes and he looked around the room, spotting Melinda and Jim standing near the door. Melinda saw the walls go up as Goren shut down. Whatever it was his partner had meant, it had an intensely negative effect on him. She glanced around the room, but the ghost was not there, although the mist, still somewhat agitated, hovered nearby.

Slowly, Goren sat up, grunting softly at the pain that seemed to radiate everywhere. Jim stepped forward. "You should rest. You have a concussion and a couple of rib fractures."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Just that you were hit by a truck on the square, but Melinda was nearby."

Goren looked at Melinda. "What did you see?"

_Much more than I wanted to see,_ Melinda thought. Aloud, however, she said, "I just closed up the shop, and I saw you on the square. I was approaching from behind you because I wanted to talk to you, so I didn't see exactly what happened. Maybe you tripped?"

"What was his BAC?" Eames asked, looking at Jim.

The scales of Goren's anger tipped at that question and cleared his mind. He slid off the stretcher, a little unsteady, but he recovered quickly. "I don't need this," he growled softly, working hard to keep his anger in check.

He struggled into his pants as Eames tried to protest. He ignored her and grabbed his shoes from a nearby chair. As he was pulling on his shoes, the door opened and a nurse came into the room. "What's going on? Why are you up? We haven't gotten you a room yet."

"A room? I never consented to stay."

"Miss Eames has medical proxy for you and she..."

"She..." he interrupted. "...has no authority to make decisions for me unless I am incapacitated, which I am not."

"Bobby..." Eames began.

He shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. "It's not open for discussion," he snapped.

"You were hit by a truck. You really need to stay..." the nurse insisted.

Goren yanked the IV out of his arm and glared at the nurse, daring her to stop him. "No. I don't," he insisted.

"At the very least, let me get you a prescription..."

"No, thank you," he growled, not even listening to her any more.

He pulled on his shirt, grabbed the clipboard from the nurse and signed it. Then he looked at Melinda, Jim and Eames, his expression changing noticeably when he focused on his partner, and he left the cubicle. Melinda had a lot of practice interpreting the expressions of people who grieved, and his expression was complicated, much as he was. She saw grief in his eyes, tainted by sorrow, regret and something much more profound. He was on the verge of giving up, of surrendering to the forces that would do him harm, and she had no doubt that his ghost was the driving force behind it. He was beginning to question his sanity, though she had no way of knowing how significant that was. The mist left the room when Goren did.

The nurse spoke up. "Someone should stay with him, monitor him for signs of concussion. He should be woken every couple of hours for at least the first twelve hours."

Jim nodded. "I can stay with him," he offered.

"No," Eames said. "He'll never consent to that. I'll stay with him. He's my partner and my responsibility, and, ultimately, he won't say no to me." She walked toward the door, stopping as she opened it. She looked back at the couple who stood near the bed. "But thank you for the offer, and for watching out for him."

She left the room, followed by the nurse. Jim said, "How fast did you say the truck was going?"

"About the speed limit, 25 or 30 miles an hour."

"And his head hit the curb?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"If he was hit at that speed, I would expect his head injury to be worse than it is."

"The mist saved him-it must have protected him in the fall, too." Melinda looked at the sheets on the bed, stained with blood, then she looked at Jim. "She cares about him more than he knows."

Her attention was diverted by a derisive noise from near the IV pump on the other side of the bed. She looked toward Wallace, who wore an expression of contempt. "She doesn't care about him."

Melinda was beginning to understand this ghost, now that she'd met Eames. "No. It's not that she doesn't care about him. It's that you don't want her to, because if she didn't care, he would be emotionally isolated, open and susceptible to your venom. But he's not, because he's loved...by her. That's why you hate her...because he loves her...and not you. And since she does return his affection, whether they know it or not, he's protected from you by her love."

"No!" Wallace growled in fury.

Beside her, the IV pump exploded in a shower of sparks and flame, and she was gone.

Jim looked at Melinda. "Have you warned him about her?"

"No, not yet."

He look at the smoking equipment. "Now may be the time. Come on."

They hurried out of the hospital.


	4. First Set of Cautions

Goren walked from the hospital to the hotel, anger keeping his pain at bay. But as his anger faded, he realized the effect of the painkiller they'd injected into his IV was wearing off. Pain settled in on his right side where the truck had clipped him, as well as in his left shoulder and the left side of his head where he'd hit the curb. His head began to pound. Back home, in the place of medical care, he knew exactly where to go to get what he needed, but in Grandview, his options were limited. He could return to the hospital, an option he immediately dismissed because they wanted to admit him. The only other option open to him was the minibar in the corner of his hotel room. The very last thing he needed was to call his partner to bail his ass out of jail on drug charges.

The best he could do was return to his room, have a couple of drinks and sleep off the pain. He was certain Eames would return to the city after seeing that he was fine. It never entered his mind that he was anything but fine, and he certainly didn't believe that Eames would see anything else. He focused on getting to his room and going to bed. He'd think about everything that happened when he woke up. At the moment, he was too tired and in too much pain to do anything but try to sleep.

* * *

Eames spoke with the nurse and waited long enough to get the prescription Goren had refused, in the form of a couple of pills as well as a paper script. Then she drove directly to the hotel, parked and went into the lobby. She saw her partner waiting at the elevator and she went directly to his side. "Do you want to explain yourself?" she asked as she stood beside him, being careful to keep her tone non-confrontational. No one could say she didn't learn from her mistakes.

He was surprised to see her. "Explain what?"

"Bobby, you were hit by a truck tonight." She looked up at him. He had a bandage just above his right eye, which was beginning to swell and turn black and blue. "You have a head injury, a couple of rib fractures, and a lot of bruising. I have never known you to disregard medical advice. You should at least stay overnight in the hospital."

The elevator doors opened. "I'm sorry you got called, Eames. I had nothing to do with that."

She followed him into the elevator as he pressed the '3' button. "I'm glad they called me. What's going on with you?"

He looked at her, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

"This is me you're talking to. Something is wrong."

He looked straight ahead at the elevator doors, scowling. "Something's wrong? You mean, like my brother's murder? Or the fact that I was framed for it by the only man I ever loved like a father? Or maybe you mean the descent into madness of the most brilliant mind I've ever known?" He turned his face toward her, his expression grim. "That could be me in fifteen years, Eames."

"No!" she declared vehemently. "You are nothing like Gage!"

Goren shook his head in disagreement as the elevator doors opened on his floor. "You never saw him in his prime. He wasn't always like that."

She had no reply for that and followed him to his room, watching him unlock the door. Then he paused, holding it open. "You can go home. I don't need a babysitter."

"No, but you do need a friend." She gave him a gentle push and crossed the threshold behind him. "You need me."

He stopped suddenly and she ran into his back. He turned around to face her, giving her an odd look. She frowned and asked, "What?"

He remained silent as he studied her face, her words spinning through his mind. _You need me._ Somehow, she always managed to hit the nail on the head. He did need her. But did she realize just how much he needed her? Probably not. He did his level best to keep that hidden from her. He withdrew from her, and she followed him further into the room. Pulling a small pill bottle from her pocket, she rattled it. "I got your pain medicine. You might be an idiot, but I think you suffer enough under the weight of being you."

She pulled the paper script from her other pocket and placed it on the desk by the television. Then she got a glass of water and dumped one of the pills into her hand, returning to him. Watching her, he hadn't moved. She reached up and pressed the pill past his lips, holding out the glass. He took it from her and drank the water, swallowing the medicine, then set the glass in front of the television.

Silently, she reached out and slowly began to unbutton his shirt. He looked down at her hands. "Wh-What are you doing?"

She didn't have to feel his pulse to know his heart had begun to race. "I want to see your injuries."

She eased his shirt off his shoulders and examined the bruises from the accident on his side from the middle of his ribcage to the waistband of his jeans. She lightly touched the discolored area. He drew in a sharp breath, followed by a deep groan of pain. "Did you fall, Bobby, like Melinda said? Or did you trip?"

He shook his head. "I didn't trip and I didn't just fall."

"Were you drinking?"

"No. I'm sure they drew a BAC, if you don't believe me..."

"That's not necessary," she insisted. What was done, was done.

She reached for his belt. He stepped back, uncertain. "Trust me," she implored. "I need to see your injuries."

When she reached out again, he didn't withdraw. She undid his belt and then his jeans. He gripped the waistband of his jeans, hesitated, then slowly slid them over his hips. He sat with a groan on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes. When he began to lean over to pull off his pants, pain flared in his side and he stopped, closing his eyes and swallowing another deep groan. She moved closer and dropped down to her knees to help him off with his pants. Reluctantly, he allowed it.

She touched a bruise on the side of his knee, following it up his thigh to the leg of his boxers. From his ribcage to his knee, where the truck struck him... She remained kneeling with her hand resting on his knee, and she looked up at him. "What happened?" she asked, knowing that he was not, by nature, a careless man. "How did you get hit by that truck?"

"I...I don't know how it happened. I, uh, I think I remember being pushed, but there was no one around me, so it couldn't have been that." He shrugged. "I can't explain it."

"You're sure you didn't trip?"

He looked down at her hand as her thumb lightly stroked his knee. Much calmer, he closed his eyes and softly said, "I-I didn't trip and I wasn't drunk. I don't know what happened." He forced his eyes open and looked into her face. There was no censure, just concern. "Eames, you-you don't have to stay."

She moved to sit beside him on the bed and said, "I do have to stay. You have to be checked on every couple of hours because of your head injury. So, I am staying to check on you."

He shook his head. "No. That's a lot—too much—to ask. I...I..."

She touched his mouth with her fingertips. "So don't ask. Bobby, how many hours did you sit with me in the hospital after I escaped from Jo Gage? Don't argue with me."

He paused, then shook his head. "That's the last thing I want to do."

"All right then." She stood up and kissed his forehead. "Get ready for bed. I have an overnight bag in the car downstairs. I'll be right back."

She got up and left the room. He went into the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He touched his cheek below the bruise that was spreading from the laceration near his eye. "Very attractive," he muttered.

"You were always attractive, Bobby," Wallace said from the bath tub.

She watched him wash up and brush his teeth, then examine his bruises again. He remained in his boxers, painfully slipped on a t-shirt and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his socks. He rubbed his temples. Now that he was beginning to relax and the pain medicine was kicking in, he felt dizzy and nauseous.

Wallace sat by the window and watched him. "One bed, Bobby. Where is _she_ going to sleep? This could be very interesting."

He laid back on the bed with a soft groan. Slowly, he turned onto his uninjured side and closed his eyes. In the corner of the room, the mist hovered, angry and red, until Wallace disappeared.

* * *

Eames opened her trunk and removed her bag. When she closed the trunk, she saw Jim and Melinda approaching the hotel. She stepped up onto the sidewalk, as the couple neared the hotel entrance. "Detective Eames," Melinda said. "We need to talk to you and Robert."

Eames was reluctant. She just wanted to be alone with him, to judge for herself what his frame of mind was and what he really needed from her. "Not tonight. He needs to rest and heal."

"It's important."

Eames remained adamant. "Not tonight," she repeated firmly. "He will probably be sleeping by the time I get back upstairs. Too much has happened today. Anything you want to discuss can wait a day or so. Come by tomorrow."

"This can't wait," Melinda insisted. "What happened to him tonight, it wasn't an accident."

"What are you talking about?"

Melinda glanced at Jim, then looked back at Eames. "Robert is in danger, but he doesn't realize it."

Eames looked around at the quaint, quiet surroundings of the village. "What kind of danger could he be in around here?"

Melinda didn't blame a cop from the city for scoffing at the idea. She forged ahead with her explanation. "I have a gift. I can see the earthbound spirits of people who have not yet crossed over. Robert has one of those spirits attached to him."

Melinda was accustomed to receiving the look Eames gave her. "Maybe you should go," Eames said cautiously.

"Please, hear me out. He didn't trip or fall in front of that truck. He was pushed."

Goren had said he felt as though he'd been pushed, but Eames remained skeptical. "Pushed? By a ghost? I think maybe scotch had more to do with what happened to him than Jacob Marley."

Jim shook his head. "No. His BAC proved he wasn't drinking."

Melinda's explanation became more urgent. "Sometimes, they're able to interact with the physical world, and this ghost has figured out how to do that."

"Look, I don't know what your game is, but I think you should leave my partner alone."

"I'm not the one he needs protecting from. This ghost is malicious and violent. She wants to take him with her."

"She? He has a female ghost. That figures."

She continued toward the hotel entrance, until Melinda said, "She said her name is Nicole."

Eames stopped in her tracks and dropped her bag. She turned. _No..._ "What did you say?"

"She told me her name is Nicole, and she's gone to lengths to try to convince me that you don't care about him. I can see that the opposite is true. You care about him very much, probably more than he thinks you do."

Eames moved closer to her. "What do you know about Nicole?"

"Not much. She's blonde, petite, and she talks with an accent. She told me that he pursued her for years but never caught her, but she didn't put that in any context."

"What context did you put it in?"

"At first, I thought she might be a jealous ex."

"You have the jealous part right."

Jim said, "Then we thought she might be a criminal he was after, or maybe even one he arrested."

Eames nodded slowly. "Right on both counts, though she was never convicted. She was obsessed with him, and she lashed out to hurt him in any way she could. Last month, just before she was killed, she murdered his brother. He was framed for that murder. It's a long story."

"Well, now she wants to take him with her."

"Take him with her? You mean she wants to kill him, too?"

Melinda nodded. "I'm afraid so. That's why I think he's in danger. Like I said, she's very malicious."

"So she...she pushed him in front of that truck?"

"Yes. I saw her do it."

Eames was torn. She didn't know what to believe, although if anyone could figure out a way to torment Goren from beyond the grave, Nicole would be just the one to do that. "Do you deal with this often?"

"A lot more often than I'd like."

"How can I protect him?"

"I don't know for sure, but he should be careful. I have to get her to cross over, but first I have to figure out why she's here, why she attached herself to him."

"If you'd known her, you wouldn't have to ask that. She set him up to take the rap for another murder six years ago by making it seem like he drove a suspect to commit suicide. She haunted him even before she died." She looked up the side of the building. "I'd better get back up there."

"Both of you, be careful. She has a great deal of animosity toward you, too."

Eames picked up her bag. "She never frightened either of us and she won't start now. Are you sure about this? It's not some kind of prank?"

"I'm positive. Believe me, I wouldn't pull a prank like this. She's messing with him, and it's affecting him."

"I don't doubt that."

Melinda pulled out her card and wrote her cell phone number on the back of it. "Here. Call me if anything happens. I'll do what I can."

Eames took the card and looked at it, then she hurried back into the hotel.

* * *

Eames got to the room before she realized she hadn't grabbed the keycard before she left. She knocked but he didn't answer. Finding the night manager, she used her badge and a series of not-so-subtle threats to get him to open the door. As she approached the bed, she watched the slow rise and fall of his chest and dismissed the manager.

She sat lightly on the edge of the bed. "What am I going to do with you?" she whispered as she lightly pulled on his soft curls.

"You can leave him the hell alone," Wallace sneered as she approached the bed and touched Goren's forehead, her ghostly hand near Eames' living one. "He's _mine_, Detective Eames. You had your chance. Many chances, actually, and you blew it."

As Eames watched, her partner became restless. She leaned closer, making a soft, reassuring sound to settle him. Without waking, he shifted closer to her, relaxing when he made contact with her. In the corner, the mist once again swirled in angry reds and oranges. Wallace made a feral noise and stormed around the room.

Eames looked toward the window as the curtains suddenly billowed angrily. She frowned and went over to the window to close it, surprised to find it was not open. She recalled Melinda's warning, but she now felt foolish for believing any part of what she said. _Ghosts._ The thought of it alone was simply ridiculous. Nicole Wallace was dead and gone, and so was any threat she posed beyond what still existed in her partner's head. She knew of no way to purge those thoughts from his mind.

She moved the curtains and looked out the window. Goren chose a nice place to gather himself after all he'd been through, and she made up her mind to call Ross in the morning to take off some time to stay here with him and help him do just that.

As she contemplated her plans, Wallace approached her, her face twisted by rage and jealousy. How fair was it that this woman got to exist with Goren when she could not? She braced herself, ready to throw Eames through the thick glass.

The mist moved suddenly, this time interfering with her plans before she could act, saving Eames' life. Wallace glared into the swirling cloud. "Do _not_ cross me," she warned.

When the mist remained between her and Eames, she growled at it. "You can't protect them both," she threatened, and then she was gone.

Eames stepped away from the window, suppressing a shiver. She looked around the room and checked the thermostat. It was a little cool in the room, the same way he kept his apartment. She adjusted the thermostat just a little, then walked back to the bed.

In the corner of the room, the mist gradually settled from its agitated state to a calmer one. It further calmed when Eames leaned over to lightly kiss Goren's temple.

She changed into her favorite pajamas, a light purple satin set with a sleeveless top and shorts. She loved the feel and fit of them. After setting the alarm in her phone to wake her in two hours, she sat lightly beside Goren and gently stroked his hair. He softly sighed and again shifted closer to her. She smiled, then she looked around the room for the most comfortable place to sleep. She got up and began to rearrange the furniture. As she moved the larger of the two chairs toward the bed, she stubbed her toe on it. With a sharp gasp, she let out a cry and a swear, dropping into the chair and cradling her foot in both hands.

At the noise of distress from her, Goren stirred, and his eyelids flickered. He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. "Eames, are you okay? What are you doing?"

She looked up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I just stubbed my foot."

He looked at the foot she cradled in her hands...such a small foot, with perfectly manicured toenails painted pink. "Uhm...D-Doing what?"

"Arranging the furniture so I have a place to sleep."

He shifted his eyes to her face, his brow furrowing, which made his head hurt more. He winced but remained focused on her. "You're going to sleep in the chairs?"

She motioned to the room around them. "Look around, Bobby. I only see one bed in the room, and getting hit by a truck earns you that sleeping place by default."

"But...it's a king-sized bed. I don't need all this room, and you don't take up that much. There's plenty of space for you."

When she didn't move, he cocked his head to the side and said, "I promise I won't bite...hard."

She stared at him for a moment before suddenly laughing. He had the oddest ways of setting her at ease. "Do I have to draw a line down the middle of the bed?"

"I'll be good," he promised.

"Yes, you will," she said firmly. "Are you going to sleep on top of the blanket all night?"

"Would that make you more comfortable?"

Smiling, she walked around the bed and pulled back the blanket. "Come on, get under the blanket."

He moved slowly, pain radiating everywhere. She slowly pulled the sheet and blanket from under him so he wouldn't have to move so much, then she pulled them up over him. "There, isn't that better?"

His breathing was ragged and his eyes were closed. Once the pain settled and he was breathing easier, he opened his eyes and looked at her. "Thanks," he said, his voice hoarse.

She knelt on the bed beside him. "I think it would have been a better decision for you to have stayed in the hospital, where they could keep an eye on you and control your pain better."

"I'm just sore," he assured her. "I'm all right."

"Just sore, my ass. You know better than to lie to me, Goren."

The pain was receding as he rested against the two pillows beneath his head and watched her. His left arm was draped above his head and his expression was sleepy. She couldn't help smiling. "Go back to sleep," she said, her tone warm with affection.

"Promise me you won't sleep in the chairs."

"You're okay with me sleeping in the bed with you?"

"Yes. I'm not okay with you sleeping in the chairs."

She slid under the sheet and blanket and stretched out beside him."Happy?"

He had no answer for that. He rolled onto his uninjured side, facing her, tucking his arm under the pillows. He reached toward her with his other arm, running his fingertips over the fabric of her top. "This is nice," he said.

"It's comfortable," she replied.

She arched her back, pressing her stomach against his fingers. He jerked his hand back suddenly. She pulled the sheet up and looked under it. "What? Did it bite you?"

His expression betrayed his confusion. "Bite me? N-No."

She smiled and curled her hand around his. "It's okay," she soothed. "Relax."

His head sank deeper into the pillows as he relaxed. He moved his thumb along hers briefly as his eyes drifted closed.

She watched his breathing even out, and she reached toward him, lightly brushing her fingers over his jawline.

He groaned softly, shifting closer to her. His hand slid around her and he applied gentle pressure to guide her closer to him. It was a subconscious gesture. When someone lay in bed beside him, he wanted her close, so he could hold her as he slept.

She was surprised by the tender intimacy of his desire to have her close, but she didn't resist. In his sleep, he folded his arm around her midsection as he tucked his chin over her head. He draped his leg over hers and sighed again. She snuggled into his embrace, wrapped her arm around him and rested her head against his chest. A slurry of emotions whirled their way through her head as she rubbed her hand over his back. It had been so long...not since Joe... She was warm and comfortable, and she felt safe.

She closed her eyes and fell asleep. In the corner, now fully calm, the mist remained, keeping watch over the sleeping couple.


	5. An Eventful Night

Eames woke easily when her alarm went off less than two hours later. She found herself spooned against his body, held firmly in place by his embrace. Her heart leaped. She liked this position entirely too much. She shifted against him. "Wake up, Bobby."

It took a few tries, but she finally succeeded in waking him. As he became aware of their respective positions, he jerked away from her. "Eames...I-I'm sorry."

She turned over to face him. "Sorry for what?" she asked, keeping her tone even.

"Did I...I mean, was I...uh...? I-I thought the bed was big enough..."

She laughed lightly. "The bed is just the right size," she answered. "You didn't do anything wrong. You just held me, and it was nice. It was very nice."

"Are you sure?"

She slid across the sheets into his arms and snuggled against his body. "I think I would have noticed if you'd done anything objectionable. You're spoiling me. I like this."

Wrapping his arms tentatively around her, he finally relaxed and held her in a comfortable embrace. They both went back to sleep.

* * *

When the alarm went off again, Eames rolled over to empty space beside her. She opened her eyes to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. She got onto her knees and knelt behind him, placing her hands over his. His hands slid away and he rested his head back against her chest as she continued to massage his temples. Resting her head against his, she spoke softly into his ear. "You should lay down."

He didn't want to move because in order for him to move, she would have to move as well, and he wasn't willing for her to do that just yet. Slowly, he tipped his head back so he could look at her. His eyes scanned her face; she did not withdraw. He turned around slowly, drawing her closer and closing his eyes as his lips brushed over hers. She trembled and slid her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

Across the room, Wallace watched. When he initiated the kiss and she did not reject him, she felt rage boil up from deep inside. "No..." she growled. "Nooo!"

The light bulb in the lamp on the desk exploded, followed by the one by his side of the bed. Eames broke the embrace, jumping off the bed away from the broken glass, as Goren turned to look at the lamp beside the bed. He turned too fast, and pain erupted in his side, radiating into his hip and his head. He doubled over with a groan.

Slivers of glass from the shattered bulbs littered the bed and the floor in front of the desk, surrounding him. Eames turned on the light by her side of the bed and stepped into her shoes, hurrying around to his side. His body had shielded her from the exploding bulbs. The back of his shirt was covered with shattered glass, and he had glass in his hair.

"Are you all right?" she asked, gently trying to brush the glass from his hair with shaking hands.

He nodded, "I'm okay. Are you?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, struggling to keep her voice steady. "What caused that?"

He shrugged as the pain began to ease. "A power surge, probably. I'll call the front desk."

He picked up the phone and dialed the lobby. The apologetic desk clerk promised to send housekeeping right up to clean up the glass and replace the bulbs. While he made the call she went into the bathroom and found a comb in his shaving bag. She returned to him. "Let's get this shirt off you."

A power surge seemed a reasonable explanation to his mind, but she had nagging doubts as she tried to control the shakiness she felt. Melinda's warning replayed itself over and over in her head. If there was any truth to Melinda's claims, Eames had no doubt Wallace would be as malicious and dangerous in death as she had been in life...perhaps even moreso because there did not seem to be a way for them to protect themselves against her now.

She carefully helped him removed his shirt and then shook it out over the already contaminated bed. Gently, she began to comb the glass from his hair. The simple act of pulling the comb through his hair helped to calm her and relax him. He closed his eyes and focused on her, away from his pain. When she was sure there was no more glass in his hair, she brushed her hands over his back, making sure his skin was also free of the small, sharp shards.

When she moved away from him, he slowly opened his eyes, giving her a half-smile when she handed him his shoes. After he slipped them on, she held out her hand. Looking at her face for a moment, he took her hand and allowed her to lead him to the chair by the window. As he slowly lowered himself into the chair, she retrieved a blanket from the closet and placed it in his lap. That was much less painful for him than pulling on his jeans. She turned on the closest light and pulled the other chair next to his. Sitting down, she reached out to touch the leading edge of the bruises that spread from his side onto his chest, trailing her fingertips lightly along the discoloration. He watched her fingers for a moment, then he grasped her hand and lightly kissed the pads of each finger. She softly gasped at the heat that spread from her fingers with each kiss.

A knock at the door forced him to release her hand. The lock on the door disengaged and the door opened. "Hello? Housekeeping."

"Come in," Eames called out.

The woman propped the door open and came into the room. "I am so sorry this happened," she said as Eames showed her the remnants of the two light bulbs.

Eames returned to her chair as the housekeeper got to work. After changing the sheets, she plugged in her vacuum cleaner and worked on vacuuming the glass from the carpet. The noise from the machine pounded and echoed in Goren's head, intensifying his headache. He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his head on his hand, nauseous and fatigued. Eames reached out and stroked his hair.

Once she was certain all the glass had been cleaned up, the housekeeper replaced the bulbs, made the bed and gathered her things, apologizing again for what happened. She left the room, and they were alone again, almost. The mist remained in the corner, undulating blue and green.

Goren had begun to nod off in the chair, so Eames ushered him to the bed. He eased himself back against the pillows and watched her. She seemed awfully keyed up, which he was unable to fully explain. She should have gone back to the city. Quietly he asked, "Why did you stay, Eames? You could have gone back to New York."

"You're my partner. I stayed to take care of you. That's what partners do."

He didn't know if she was affirming that or reminding him of it, but at the moment, he didn't care. "You surprised me. I thought...I thought you would have gone back to the city."

"I'm not going back until I'm convinced that you're okay."

"Okay? Am I ever okay?"

She studied his face, which reflected both confusion and relief. He was right. It had been a very long time since he had been okay. It was a circumstance she wanted to change. Softly, she answered, "As long as I'm here you are."

He let her words tumble around in his head, then he motioned to her and waited for her to crawl in beside him. As she climbed into the bed, he reached out a tentative hand toward her. When she settled into the crook of his embrace, he relaxed, turning onto his side and nuzzling his face in her hair. He exhaled slowly and whispered softly, "You're right. I am as okay as I ever get when you're around."

She felt the weight of his body against hers as he drifted to sleep, but she had trouble following him. Melinda's words of caution about the ghost of Nicole Wallace haunting her sensitive partner now haunted her.

* * *

She was still awake when it was time to wake him again, so she reset the alarm before it went off. She still had to invest some effort into waking him, but his mind cleared in a reasonable amount of time, so she wasn't overly concerned.

"You're still here," he murmured sleepily.

She smiled and gently stroked the side of his face. "Where else would I be?"

He shrugged. "Somewhere...else."

She recalled what Gage had said to him about everyone always leaving him and his admission that he thought it was his fault. She shook her head. "No. I'm here and I'm going to stay."

He gave her a small, sleepy grin and turned his head unexpectedly. His mouth brushed her palm and he kissed it. She didn't pull away. Slowly, he raised his hand to grasp hers, and he lightly kissed the inside of her wrist. Her stomach fluttered. "Stay here with me?" he asked, his breath caressing her wrist, causing more fluttering that began to wriggle outward from her stomach.

She moved closer to him. "I promise," she said.

Satisfied, he closed his eyes, shifting toward her until his head rested against her chest. He softly sighed. At that moment, there was no past and there was no future. There was only the present and he was content to simply be with her. She stroked his hair as his breathing became slow and steady. Resting her hand on his back, she closed her eyes and tried to send thoughts of Nicole Wallace far away from her mind.

* * *

In the darkest hours of the night, before dawn broke, Wallace appeared in the room again. Seeing the partners snuggled together in the bed made her angry. She was not going to tolerate the two of them becoming closer. He was _hers _and she was taking him with her, one way or another. Reaching out, she touched him, expecting the same unsettled reaction he always had when she touched him.

He shifted against the woman in his arms, burying his face in her hair as he slept. He felt the familiar touch, his mind interpreting it as hers. His hips jerked forward, into her the curve of her firm butt, and he softly groaned.

Wallace pulled back from the bed, furious that he was turning his attention to another, believing that on some level, he knew she was there. Her anger escalated to a blinding rage deep inside her. "No!" she screamed, though no one could hear her. "He is _mine_, you bitch!"

She launched herself toward the bed, but the mist moved out of the corner, once more a roiling storm of red and orange. Since it had first appeared, it had been gaining strength and knowledge of the world it had left behind, and it successfully blocked Wallace's attack. "Get the hell out of my way!" she screamed at it, lashing out as she tried unsuccessfully to cause it harm.

In a fit of rage, she knocked the phone off the nightstand, ripping the cord from the wall jack. She ran at the wall and vanished through it.


	6. Explanation

Noon was approaching when Eames woke, once again cradled in her partner's arms. She could definitely get used to that. Given his basic nature, which was sweet and affectionate, she wasn't all that surprised that he liked to cuddle. In fact, she found it endearing. Resting her head against him, she listened to his breathing. Every so often, a groan of pain rumbled through his chest.

Comfortable and content, she was reluctant to move, but the call of nature had other plans. Carefully, she slid from his arms. He stirred, shifting in her direction, but he settled back to sleep without waking.

When she came out of the bathroom, she returned to the bedside and looked down at her sleeping partner. He was laying on his uninjured side, and she reached out, gently drawing the blanket off him so she could look at his injuries. His bruises had deepened and spread further onto his chest and abdomen. The area over his fractured ribs was the deepest purple. The bruising continued past the waistband of his boxers, extending to his knee. The truck had clipped him and she shuddered to think of the damage it would have caused if it had stuck him full on. He wouldn't have survived that.

When he stirred, her attention was drawn to his hips and she noticed his morning erection. Her cheeks flushed and she jerked the blanket back up to his waist. Unbidden, memories of Joe crept into her mind. Mornings had been his favorite time for sex, and she couldn't help wondering if her partner shared that particular passion. Trying to chase the memories away, her eyes were drawn back to Goren's waist.

Across the room, near the window, Wallace watched her. "Embarrassed, my dear detective?" she taunted.

Eames reached out and lightly stroked Goren's arm. He shifted, then groaned in pain. When she stroked his hair and trailed her fingers to his cheek, he tipped his head, pressing his cheek into her touch without waking. He moved his hips and groaned again. Infuriated by his response to his partner, Wallace made a feral sound and threw the floor lamp toward the bed. The mist interfered with the path of the lamp and it fell to the floor with a crash, landing near Eames without hitting her.

Eames jumped away from the lamp, looking around the room nervously. Goren woke with a start at the noise, lurching to a sitting position. Pain erupted everywhere and his vision faded to darkness. Eames caught him, gently easing him back onto the pillows. After a few seconds, his eyelids fluttered and he groaned. His chest was on fire, the pain radiating into his hip. His breathing was labored as he opened his eyes and looked at her, almost surprised to see her standing over him. His eyes were as bright with pain as hers were dark with worry. She grabbed the pill bottle from beside the phone on the nightstand and dumped the last pill into her hand. "Take this," she said. "We'll get your prescription filled after you get up."

He slowly eased himself into a sitting position against the headboard as she handed him the medicine and retrieved a glass of water for him. "How do you feel?" she asked as he swallowed the pill.

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes as she removed the glass from his hand. Gradually, he calmed and his breathing evened out. He quietly answered, "Like I was run over by a truck. How about I stay here and you fill the prescription?"

"Nice try," she said, glancing at the fallen lamp. "We need to talk to your friend Melinda."

He opened his eyes and looked at her, his brow furrowed. "Melinda? What for?"

"Trust me. You have to hear what she has to say."

"About what?"

"You need to hear it from her. It may have something to do with that-" She pointed at the lamp. "-and with what happened last night."

"What are you talking about? What happened last night?"

"The light bulbs exploding like that...I don't think it was a power surge."

Confused, he shook his head. "What else could it have been? Of course it was a power surge."

She motioned toward the lamp laying on the floor. "You can't tell me _that_ was a power surge."

He looked at the lamp. He had no explanation for how the lamp ended up on the floor in the middle of the room, but Eames had an idea, and she didn't like it. She laid her hand on his and squeezed. "Just be your usual charming, open-minded self and listen to what she has to say."

He turned his hand over and closed his fingers around hers, studying her face. "You stayed in the bed with me, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. And it was very comfortable," she admitted with a smile.

His face was still taut with pain, but beyond the pain, his expression was soft. He moistened his lips and softly said, "Thank you, Eames."

She cocked her head in a way she'd seen him do a hundred times. "For what?"

He didn't look away. "Thank you...for staying."

She stroked his thumb with hers, a tender gesture, and she knew he wasn't referring just to the fact that she'd stayed with him the night before, that she had taken care of him. He was thanking her for never completely giving up on him, for staying at his side for so many years, for being his partner, his friend, even when it wasn't such an easy thing to do.

She leaned in and softly kissed his mouth. "Get dressed and we'll grab a bite to eat before we talk to Melinda."

He watched her, his eyes aglow with warm affection. Moving slowly, he pushed the blanket aside and got up from the bed. He was stiff and sore, with most of the pain centered in the right side of his chest. He stifled a groan and braced his side with his arm, limping slowly to the bathroom. Eames watched him sympathetically. Nearby, Wallace appeared, also watching him, but without sympathy. The mist moved to position itself between her and the two detectives. With a sneer, Wallace growled at the mist, "I failed this time, but I won't fail a second time. Next time, he's mine."

She vanished. The mist remained where it was, seemingly determined to protect both Goren and Eames.

By the time he was dressed, his pain medicine had kicked in. Although he was clearly still in pain, he was more relaxed, moving a little easier. When they left the hotel room, the protective mist left with them.

* * *

After visiting the pharmacy and getting his prescription filled, they stopped in a nearby diner for something to eat. Then they walked through the square to Melinda's store. As they crossed the square, Eames reached out and touched his hand. He looked at her before closing his fingers around hers, and she smiled. His mouth turned up into a soft smile that touched her heart.

Melinda and Delia looked over the classified ads, searching for estate sales to attend over the next few days. They looked up when the door to the store opened. Melinda was relieved to see the two detectives. Oddly, she was equally relieved to see the mist that accompanied them like a faithful dog, determined to guard over them. "Hello," she greeted them. "How are you feeling, Robert?"

"All right, I guess, considering. Very sore."

She looked at Eames. "You had a quiet night?"

"Not really," Eames answered. "That's why we stopped by. I wanted to continue the conversation we had outside the hotel last night."

Goren scowled. "Conversation? What conversation?"

She laid her hand on his arm and shushed him. "This is important, Bobby."

Melinda squeezed Delia's arm. "Why don't you run and get lunch, Delia?"

"Do you want me to bring something back for you?"

"That'd be great. Thanks."

Delia smiled at the two city cops as she grabbed her purse and left the store. Melinda turned her attention to them. "Did you tell him?"

Eames shook her head. "No. I thought it would be better coming from you, since you understand what's going on."

Goren watched the exchange with interest, his curiosity piqued. "Exactly what is going on?"

Melinda read encouragement in his warm brown eyes. "What happened yesterday was not an accident, Robert."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

She looked at Eames, who nodded for her to continue. "I have a gift—or a curse, depending on how you look at it. I'm able to interact with earthbound spirits."

He continued to look at her, but there was no censure in his expression. "Earthbound spirits?"

Melinda expected a reaction similar to the one Eames had given her, and she was surprised by his apparent willingness to consider what she said. She nodded. "They are the spirits of people who haven't crossed over into the light. Some of them have unfinished business or loved ones they aren't prepared to leave behind. Many of them are confused and don't realize they are dead. A few don't want to cross over for whatever reason. Most of them attach themselves to a living person."

Still scowling, Goren tried to process Melinda's explanation. He looked at Eames, who touched his arm, reassuring. Then he looked back at Melinda. "This has something to do with me?"

"I'm afraid so. You have a ghost attached to you, a malicious, angry ghost."

"A female ghost," Eames said, her tone guarded.

His back stiffened and the muscles in his jaw knotted. "I, uh, I have a ghost-" He looked at Eames. "-a female ghost, attached to me?"

"She's blond, petite, and she said her name is Nicole."

Goren went very still, except for his left hand, which clenched and unclenched. His breathing rate increased noticeably. "N-Nicole," he breathed. "No..."

"She was a criminal you never caught."

"We caught her," he answered absently. "She just wasn't convicted."

Eames didn't take her worried eyes from her partner. "She tormented you," she said softly.

She saw the tension in his shoulders and the set of his jaw. "She's dead," he murmured. "Declan killed her."

"Yes, she is dead," Melinda confirmed. "And her ghost is attached to you."

His face was pale and a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. "Bobby," Eames said softly, touching his arm.

He turned his head slowly to look at her. He felt as though he was under water. Breathing and moving took almost more effort than he was able to make. She met his eyes and reached out to close her hand over his arm. The physical contact drew him back to her. The fog cleared from his mind. "I, uh...the accident...last night. I, I, uhm, I felt like I was p-pushed..."

Melinda nodded. "You were pushed. She feels like she has some kind of claim on you."

"Of course she does," Eames snapped, angry and bitter on behalf of her partner. She knew he wouldn't have the sense to feel that way himself. "Bobby, she wants to take you with her."

His brow furrowed. "Take me...Take me with her? Why would she think I would want to go?"

"She's not giving you any choice," Melinda said.

Without taking her eyes from her partner, Eames said, "Last night, several light bulbs in the hotel room exploded. It could have been a power surge..."

Slowly, Goren shook his head. "No. It was her."

"Bobby..."

"And the lamp this morning... It makes sense, Eames. It was her."

Eames still struggled with the idea of a ghost haunting her partner, her natural pragmatism kicking in, but she had no better explanation. She wasn't surprised, however, that Goren did not doubt Melinda, who was watching them. Quietly, she said, "She wants you dead, Robert."

"Some things never change," he said.

Eames shook her head. "She never wanted you dead. She had too much fun tormenting you."

Wallace materialized nearby. "Like he said, some things never change," she said.

She started toward the partners, but the mist moved quickly, blocking her path. Her expression turned dangerous. "Get out of my way," she snarled.

The mist, which was more dense than when it first appeared, remained in place. Wallace let out a roar of frustration, and several glasses on a nearby shelf exploded into shards, which flew toward Melinda and the two detectives. However, instead of slicing human flesh, as Wallace intended, they hit the mist and fell harmlessly to the floor. With a scream of rage, Wallace disappeared, shattering several more glasses in her wake.

Unconsciously, Goren had moved in front of Eames, using his body to shield her from harm when the first glasses blew apart. Melinda had retreated to the far end of the counter. He turned to look at her. "Was that Nicole?"

She nodded. "Yes. She's very angry."

"So she...she can interact with...this plane of existence?"

"Yes. Some spirits learn how to do that, and they can be very dangerous."

Goren motioned toward the broken glass on the floor. "There's more that you aren't telling us. The trajectory of that glass...something stopped it."

Again, Melinda nodded. "There is something else that has apparently attached itself to you, but I have no idea what it is."

"Not a ghost?" Eames said.

"No, not like anything I have experienced. It appears as a mist, but anything else is speculation. It seems to react to your moods, Robert. When the ghost is around, you tend to get agitated and so does it. When she isn't around, it's calm, but it's never far from you."

Eames recognized the look on Goren's face. He was thinking, trying to figure out a puzzle, which was something he was extremely good at doing. "Nicole...she was dangerous when she was alive. And now...she's even more dangerous."

Melinda agreed with him. "Yes, she is. And if it wasn't for that mist, you might have been killed by that truck."

Concern clouded Goren's dark eyes and he turned to his partner. "Eames...you, you should go...go home..."

"No," Melinda said. "I don't think that's a good idea. Spirits can travel at will, so there is nothing to keep Nicole from showing up in New York, or in the car on the way back there, and harming Detective Eames, then coming back here to you. She is jealous of her, and there is nothing to prevent her from hurting her. Whatever that mist is, it seems intent on protecting both of you. You are safest if you are together. I honestly don't think it's inclined to leave you, Robert, so I would suggest you remain together."

Goren kept his attention focused on his partner, his expression once more soft. "I can do that," he said quietly. "Eames?"

She held his gaze and nodded. "Yes, we can do that."

He looked relieved. Every fiber in his being wanted to protect her, but how could he protect her from a threat he could not see?


	7. Quiet Time

**A/N: I'm not sure why it took so long to proofread this chapter, aside from my work schedule, the hustle and bustle of the holidays and the hassles of preparing for another cross-country move. First, let me wish all of you happy holidays and best of luck in the new year. I will be spending the first few weeks of the new year moving back to Colorado and getting the family settled back into the familiar, comfortable surroundings of home. I already have doctors' appointments scheduled for Katie and am hoping the medical transition will be a smooth one. Since she is on dialysis, everything is so much more complicated. I am, however, hoping that by listing her in Denver as well as keeping her listed in Hershey, we may have some luck in finding a donor kidney for her. God bless all of you and thanks for your continued support of my writing endeavors. I appreciate each of you.**

* * *

After spending the afternoon walking around Grandview before eating dinner and returning to the hotel, Goren was exhausted. His entire body hurt, though most of the pain was concentrated on his injured side. He took a nice, hot shower, which helped to relax his taut muscles, then he sat on the bed with his back against the headboard, dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt.

Eames knew he was hurting, and she set his medicine and a glass of water on his nightstand. "Feel better?" she asked.

He nodded as he picked up the pill bottle, dumping two of the strong little pills into his hand and swallowing them with the water. "I didn't realize how tense I was."

She sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hand on his thigh, just above his knee. "Funny how much your body objects to getting hit by a truck, huh?"

"Hilarious," he grumbled.

She moved her hand over his warm skin. "Don't be grouchy," she lightly admonished.

His eyes strayed to her hand, which continued to caress his bruised thigh. She had no idea how good that felt. He began to relax.

When she moved her hand from his leg, he groaned a soft protest. Gently, she took his hand in both of hers. Pressing her thumbs into his palm, she began to massage his hand. Watching her, he swallowed another groan but he continued to relax. Gradually, his breathing evened out, which she was glad to see. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. "I'm going to shower."

He managed to nod and watched her grab her bag and disappear into the bathroom. After a few minutes, the water began to run in the shower. Lulled by the sound, he dozed off.

_Running water...he was swept along by the current, a single drop of water among millions. Tumbling from the shower head, he splashed onto her head, traveling through her hair onto her face. Rolling along her cheek, he moved past her ear, along the curve of her neck and her collarbone before rolling to her breast. He glided along the smooth mound onto the dark discoloration around her nipple. He wanted to stay for awhile, but his momentum propelled him along the curve of her breast, down her ribs and her abdomen until he disappeared into the triangle of hair at the top of her legs. Then he found himself falling...falling..._

Eames came out of the bathroom, toweling her hair. She looked toward the bed from under the towel, relieved to see him sleeping. His shower must have done him some real good. She draped the towel over the back of the desk chair and pulled a bottle of lotion and a magazine from her bag. She slid into the bed beside him, careful not to invade his space.

As she settled against the pillows, his body suddenly jerked, then he gasped as pain seared through his side into his hip. He woke disoriented and confused, his body afire with an odd mix of pain and desire. Somehow, the pain worked to intensify the desire and he softly groaned.

"Bobby?" she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

His mind cleared slowly and the pain began to ease, but his desire for her remained inexplicably strong. "I, uhm, I'm okay," he assured her, not looking at her.

"What happened?"

He shook his head. "I...I was falling," he explained. "That's all I remember."

"Don't worry," she whispered as she rubbed his shoulder. "I'll be there to catch you."

He raised his eyes to look at her and caught his breath. She wore a satin top and sleep shorts, a subdued shade of mint green that did such wonderful justice to her eyes. He was unable to look away, and his desire for her soared to new levels, in spite of his attempts to control it.

She became concerned when she noticed how uncomfortable he seemed to have gotten. "What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing," he insisted. Motioning toward her, he said, "I, uhm, I like that top. The color...it-it brings out the...the specks of green in your eyes."

She looked down at her top. "I didn't realize I have specks of green in my eyes."

He hadn't looked away from her. "You do."

Smiling, assured he was all right, she squeezed his arm and nestled back into the pillows, plopped the magazine, face down, in her lap and opened the bottle of lotion. She stopped before squeezing it into her hand. "This won't bother you, will it?" she asked.

"Bother me? How?"

She held the bottle out to him. "The smell. I know how sensitive your sense of smell is."

The scent of the lotion wafted from the bottle she held. _So familiar._ Sometimes he was caught off his guard by the scent of her hair or her skin when he leaned over her shoulder to look at a file or her computer screen. Sometimes, he had to be careful, depending on his mood. Getting ambushed by the scent of her when he was in the wrong mood would trap him at his desk for a while. Tonight, he was in the wrong kind of mood, but he had no where to go. He couldn't leave her alone, not even for a little while. He was stuck with no options. "Lilac," he said softly, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I...You wear it to work. Why would I have a problem with it now?"

She withdrew the bottle and stretched out her legs. "I know you aren't feeling well. I just wanted to make sure."

"Thank you, but you can use your lotion."

Resting back against his own pillows, he switched on the television and turned to the news, trying to concentrate on anything but the woman beside him. She squeezed lotion into her hand and began to rub it into her left leg as he tried to focus on the news report. The weather was on, something about a big storm system slowly churning its way in their direction from the Great Lakes, lots of thunder and dangerous lightning.

She squeezed more lotion into her hand and rubbed it into her other leg. He looked out of the corner of his eye, watching her hands stroke her leg from toes to knee. Subconsciously, he flexed his left hand.

Eames noticed his tension. "You okay?" she asked.

"Huh?" He looked at her. "What?"

"Is the news that interesting?"

"No, I mean, yes...uh...yeah, I guess it is. Uh, there...there's a storm heading this way."

"Big storm?" she asked as she screwed the cap on the bottle and set it on the nightstand beside her.

"Seems to be, yes."

After tucking her legs beneath the covers, she picked up her magazine and commented, "I always liked to stay in and watch it storm from the safety of my bed."

Desperate for a distraction, not thinking for a moment her magazine could possibly make matters worse for him, he asked, "What are you reading?"

Her cheeks colored a little. "What, this? It's just a magazine."

His interest piqued by her reluctance to be more specific, he pressed, "Come on, Eames. What is it? Maybe it's something I'd be interested in."

She made a noise that sounded like a strangled laugh. "Just watch the TV. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in this."

She had the magazine positioned so that he couldn't see the cover. Without warning, he snatched it from her hands. "Hey!" she protested, grabbing for it, but it was too late.

He flipped the magazine closed and silently groaned. "_Cosmopolitan_?"

"What can I say? There wasn't much to choose from. It was either that or _Popular Mechanics_."

His eyes traveled over the article titles on the cover. "'How to drive your man wild in bed'," he read. "'Twelve steps to an earth-shattering orgasm'. Really, Eames?"

She snatched the magazine back from him. "Bite me, Goren."

He laughed, then groaned when fire exploded in his side. "Don't make me laugh, please."

"You deserved that," she replied. "Now isn't there something on _The History Channel_ or _Discovery_ that will interest you?"

"I suppose," he said, grabbing the remote.

It really didn't matter what was on the screen. He was too distracted to pay attention. Every time she turned a page, he wondered what she was reading, and he was getting increasingly uncomfortable.

Eames turned another page in her magazine, and Goren shifted again. Every time he moved, he diverted her attention, not that it required much concentration to read _Cosmopolitan_. "Do you need another dose of medicine?" she asked.

At the sound of her voice, he turned his head toward her. "What?" he asked. Although he'd heard her voice, his mind had failed to translate the sound into words.

"Do you need medicine?" she repeated. "You keep fidgeting."

"I...uhm...sorry. No, I'm okay."

Unconvinced, she returned to her magazine as he made a conscious effort to stop fidgeting. After a few minutes, she decided his not fidgeting was more distracting than his fidgeting had been, and she closed the magazine, placing it on her nightstand.

"It's getting late," she said. "I'm going to sleep." She turned off her light and snuggled down under the covers. Turning onto her side, she watched him for a moment before reaching out and stroking his arm. "Good night, Bobby."

"Good night, Eames," he said quietly, switching off the light by his bed and turning down the volume on the television so neither would disturb her.

He waited for a few minutes before he allowed himself to look at her in the glow from the television. He itched to touch her, but he wouldn't—not without an open invitation from her, which he did not have, despite her subtle gestures of affection. There was a line drawn in the sand between them. He didn't remember who drew it, but he couldn't cross it. He could, however, watch her, which he did, often. And whether he liked it or not, he also dreamed about her, often. He had no control over that. The situation he now found himself in, however, was torturous. Watching her sleeping in the bed beside him, knowing he couldn't touch her the way he wanted to, made him more desperate to do just that. Again, he flexed his hand. The burn, the itch to satisfy the fire in his gut was more than distracting, but there was nothing he could do about it, not at the moment.

His mind wandered until it came across a memory of the night before, when he'd taken a chance and kissed her. And she'd let him...until Nicole threw a tantrum and shattered the light bulbs. _Nicole_...if she hadn't done that, he would have believed the kiss he'd shared with Eames wasn't a memory but a dream, like so many others. It wasn't, though. It had actually happened, and she'd allowed it. He couldn't get past that, and he had no idea what it meant for him.

"Why are you watching me?" Eames said suddenly, startling him.

_Busted_. He made two false starts before he let out a heavy breath. "Sorry" was all he could manage to say.

She didn't say anything right away as she listened to his breathing, which was the only sound in the dark room. Rather than smooth and steady, it was irregular, and she didn't like the sound of it.

"Are you all right?" she finally asked, her voice not much more than a whisper.

Shifting on the pillows, he softly sighed. "It's nothing to worry about," he assured her, unwilling to discuss it.

Figuring he might as well try to get some sleep, he began to roll away from her, forgetting for the moment that it was his injured side onto which he was rolling. Pain screamed from his knee up into his head. He groaned deeply and Eames turned the light back on, shifting closer to him. "What happened?" she asked, all teasing gone from her tone. "Bobby? Are you okay?"

"When have I ever been okay?" he answered, his voice strained.

Tentatively, she touched his arm. He slowly rolled onto his back, eyes closed, sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing leveled out as the pain gradually subsided.

She shifted her position, and he opened his eyes. Her expression was one of concern. He'd seen that look in her eyes too often, but he had no idea how to make it go away. _Too many worry lines,_ he observed. _I wonder how many of those are for me._ He raised his hand and hesitantly touched her face, lightly running his fingertips over her cheek. Continuing to watch her for any sign of discomfort or rejection, he caressed her jawline. A small voice in the back of his head tried to reason with him. _What the hell are you doing? Cut it out before she whacks the crap out of you. Why the hell would she want you over a normal guy who doesn't have an ocean liner full of baggage?_

The last comment from his conscience rang true with him. Why would she want him? Just what did he have to offer her? Nothing more than grief and worry. He'd seen her on the verge of tears only a few times, but each time, directly or indirectly, he was the cause.

He withdrew his hand, but continued to look at her face. Her hair was still damp from her shower and her skin was soft and warm. Mind and body recalled kissing her the night before, and he found himself getting worked up again. He'd fallen for her years ago, but had managed to keep it from her. All bets were off now. She had a clue, and she was going to figure it out, if she hadn't already. She was a detective, after all.

He shifted himself a little higher onto the pillows until his head just cleared the headboard. He was uncomfortable on so many levels, and there was little he could do about relieving any of it. He was maxed out on the pain medicine they'd prescribed for him, so his pain wasn't going to get any better. Obviously, he wasn't going to get sex any time soon and his other options weren't feasible at the moment. Making matters worse, he wanted her, and he felt guilty about it. All of his options were limited, partly by his injuries and partly by the circumstances in which they found themselves. There was no way he would leave her vulnerable to Nicole Wallace. In a moment of clarity, he realized he'd been nervous about her being behind the closed bathroom door. After all, the bathroom was the most common place in the home for serious accidents to occur. He hadn't intended to fall asleep, and he was annoyed at himself for that, despite being relieved that nothing had happened to her. He was still on edge at the thought of the invisible threat Wallace presented, and he still knew of no way to protect Eames from her.

Eames watched him try to find a more comfortable position, not sure why he'd withdrawn from her until she saw the uncertainty in his eyes. She didn't think she was sending him mixed messages. Any other guy would already have been all over her. But Goren wasn't just any other guy, and she had to continually remind herself of that. He wasn't like any other guy she'd ever known. Initially that had put her off, leading directly to her request for another partner. He had somehow changed her mind, though, and she'd withdrawn the request before he found out, until Harold Garrett made it public to the world in open court. She tried to identify the moment she'd fallen in love with him, for she knew she had, but she couldn't pin it down to any specific time. It seemed like she'd always loved him. She was certain that he didn't reciprocate her feelings...until last night, when he'd kissed her. Now she was confused and uncertain because he hadn't attempted it again.

She reached over to turn off the light, then she slid deeply into the covers, scooting closer as she rolled onto her side. His breathing was still shallow and irregular, telling her he was in more pain than he wanted her to know. She reached out and lightly rubbed her hand over his side, taking care to watch for any sign of increased discomfort.

He tensed initially when her hand settled on his side and began to lightly rub. When he began to relax, though, his pain started to subside. He sighed softly and looked toward her. With an unspoken question in his eyes, he touched her cheek. She smiled an answer, leaning in closer. His mouth quirked into a small smile and he closed the distance between them.

When his mouth closed over hers, he slid his hand over her waist and drew her closer. She slid into him as he rolled toward her, partly covering her body with his. He caressed the soft fabric of her top, then slipped his hand beneath it and moved his hips against her. She felt _so_ good.

Gently, Eames pressed her hands into his shoulders, forcing him to break the kiss. "Wh-What's wrong?" He pulled back onto his side, taking his weight off her. "Am I hurting you?"

"No, not at all. But I was wondering...what if she's watching us?"

"Who?"

"Nicole, remember? The exploding light bulbs and falling floor lamps?"

"Oh...uhm, does that bother you?"

"It doesn't bother you?"

He settled his head on his pillow and softly huffed. "To be honest with you I haven't given much thought."

"You're kidding, right?"

He knew there was a right answer to that but he wasn't sure exactly what it was. The thoughts that ran through his head as he watched her were not about another person's voyeurism, and when he touched her, especially for a kiss, he really didn't have any thoughts at all. "I, uhm..."

When he didn't say anything more, Eames smirked. "Very eloquent, Goren."

He looked away, frustrated and irritated. "What do you want me to say?" Carefully, he sat up. "Go to sleep, Eames."

She grabbed his arm. She had not intended to upset him. The idea of Wallace watching them was initially unsettling, until she let herself wonder why it didn't bother him. For years, Wallace had pursued him, only to face his rejection time and again. The woman's venom toward her, she was coming to realize, was driven by jealousy. Nicole Wallace, jealous of her...and now, perhaps, there was something to it, something that would actually justify that jealousy. Goren loved her, not Wallace. He had never loved Wallace. She was a puzzle to be solved, a criminal to bring to justice, and nothing more.

She pressed the flat of her hand against his shoulder and coaxed him to lay back down. Stretching out beside him, she draped her arm across him, lightly scratching his injured side with her nails. He trembled, then sighed and softly groaned. "That feels nice," he murmured.

She smiled, feathering the side of his face with slow, soft kisses. Instead of getting worked up by her gentle ministrations, he began to relax, and that finally allowed the pain medicine to fully do its job. As the pain faded, his head began to slowly spin. Fatigue suddenly hit him like a brick wall. He turned his head toward her, barely able to keep his eyes open. She kissed him softly, and that was the last thing he remembered as he drifted to sleep.


	8. Shadows

The next morning, Eames was again the first to waken. Goren was settled on his uninjured side, seeming to rest easily. His breathing was slow and steady, though still punctuated by an occasional soft grunt of pain. His right hand was resting on her hip, and she found it comforting. Reluctantly, she moved his hand and slid out of the bed.

After finishing in the bathroom, she dressed and got ready to go out on a breakfast run, not thinking twice about it. She slipped into her shoes and reached for her purse. The television suddenly switched on, its volume jumping to maximum. Their protector was unwilling for them to separate, where it would be unable to protect them both.

Startled awake, Goren jumped out of the bed, disoriented. Pain flared in his side, and he sat heavily on the side of the bed, holding his side and breathing hard. Eames scrambled to turn off the set and she hurried to his side. "Wh-what's going on?" he asked, his mind still fogged with sleep. He looked at her, noticing that she was dressed. "Where...where are you going?"

"I was just going to get us breakfast."

"Alone?"

"I think I can manage a couple of bagels and two cups of coffee by myself."

Panic cleared his mind quickly. "No," he insisted. "You-You can't go out alone."

"Bobby..."

"Please...this is..." He slid his hands into hers. "You have to..." He stopped again, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts. He looked at her, eyes pleading. "What Melinda said...I...I have to, I mean, you..."

If he wasn't so upset, she would find his inability to form a cohesive thought amusing. She honestly thought that Melinda was overreacting by insisting that they remain together, but his ready agreement had surprised her. She had gone along with him to settle his agitation, which it had. "Do you think that maybe Melinda overreacted?" she asked.

He tightened his grip on her hands. "No," he murmured. "No, I don't. Nicole was always a threat. Now, if what Melinda says is true, she's more of a threat than she ever was."

"Suppose she's wrong? Maybe that was just a power surge. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation for everything that happened, one that has nothing to do with Nicole."

He considered what she said and he knew that her practical approach to life made it difficult for her to accept Melinda's supernatural explanation for recent events. He looked around the room and slowly shook his head. "We have no real proof, either way," he said reasonably, much calmer. "But I would rather play it safe. Please...humor me."

Finally, she nodded. "All right, Goren. I'll humor you."

Releasing her hands, he reached out and tentatively stroked her cheek. She leaned into his touch and smiled warmly. His heart had stopped pounding and now simply fluttered with deep emotion. He leaned toward her and brushed his lips across hers.

She shifted closer, allowing him to deepen the kiss. His head began to spin again, only this time medication had nothing to do with it. He groaned softly, burning with desire, and gently fingered the hem of her shirt.

Present in the room for the first time since the previous afternoon, Wallace watched them with growing rage. Near the bed, the mist hovered. Wallace, for whatever reason, had left the couple alone for awhile, but the mist had not left its post as protector of the two. As time continued to pass, the mist continued to increase in strength, and it remained positioned between Wallace and her prey.

When Wallace started toward the bed, the mist swelled to almost twice its previous size. It seemed determined to keep the two people safe from her, and that made her even angrier. "If you were smart, you'd get out of my way," she growled menacingly.

The mist continued to roil in place, blocking her path. Behind it, oblivious to the conflict between the two spirits, Goren gently worked off his partner's shirt. He really didn't care if Wallace was watching or not. She meant nothing to him. The woman in his arms, however, meant everything to him, and he wasn't shy about showing her, if she was receptive to his advances, which she seemed to be. Also, his injured body was hurting and, medication aside, he knew that a good way to get relief from the pain was through sex.

"No," Wallace snarled, rage and jealousy causing her to tremble. She let out a howl of fury, grabbed the drapes and yanked hard.

Eames jumped away from Goren as the drapes crashed to the floor. A painting dropped from the wall, breaking the frame, and the window flew open. Shirtless, Eames stared across the room.

Glaring at the intrusive mist, Wallace growled, "You haven't seen the last of me. I will destroy you."

She vanished but the mist remained in place. After a moment, Goren got up and walked to the window, closing it. He took a moment to look outside. It was ominously overcast, the skies dark and stormy. He scratched the side of his head and turned to look at Eames, motioning at the drapes and the fallen picture. "And your reasonable explanation for this is?"

She had retrieved her shirt and pulled it back on, sitting on the edge of the bed. She was pale. "Please tell me you have one," she answered.

He walked to her and sat beside her, sliding his arm around her. Unashamed, she pressed herself against him. She did not object to his protective embrace or the kiss he pressed onto her head. She was deeply unsettled by the unexplained series of events...well, not entirely unexplained. She was troubled even more by the only explanation they had: Nicole Wallace.

He wished he had a reasonable explanation for her; he did not. All he could do was hold her, so that was what he did.

* * *

By the time they had settled enough to eat, it was lunchtime and they went to the diner near the square. Melinda was just leaving the building as they approached, and she smiled at them in greeting. "How do you feel, Robert?"

"I'm getting by," he assured her.

"Is everything all right?"

He looked at Eames, who answered, "She's still around."

Melinda nodded. "I don't think she's going to go anywhere on her own. She's angry and possessive, and she's determined to get her way."

"Which is taking me with her," Goren muttered.

"Yes."

"So what do we do?" Eames asked.

Slowly, Melinda shook her head. "I don't know, but I will figure something out. Why don't you both come over to my house for dinner tonight? Jim gets off at four, so how about six-thirty?"

Eames looked at Goren, who placed his hand on her back. She nodded and he shifted his gaze to Melinda. "All right. Six-thirty."

Thunder rumbled across the sky, and they looked up at the dark clouds. Melinda pulled her sweater more tightly around her. "Looks like it's going to be a bad storm," she said.

"That's what the news said," Goren agreed.

She opened her bag and pulled out a note pad. She wrote on it and tore off the sheet, handing it to Goren. "That's my address. I'll see you this evening."

She gave them another smile and walked past them. Goren watched her walk away as he opened the diner door for his partner. He hoped Melinda could figure out how to get rid of Wallace. He wasn't going to spend the rest of his life dealing with her and he was certainly not going to risk Eames' life. Wallace needed to move on, and he was definitely not going with her.

* * *

The waitress delivered their lunch, and as they began to eat, Goren's phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. He didn't answer it, but his expression told Eames who it was. "Gage?" she said.

He nodded as he put the phone back in his pocket. "I know you don't like him. I...I haven't been taking his calls, and that kind of pisses him off. He...he doesn't think he did anything wrong. He can be, uh, difficult."

She was quiet for a moment. "It's not just that, Bobby. He's more than difficult. He's done...unforgivable things...to his daughter, to you."

Goren looked at his plate. "Jo..." he said with guilt. "I...I kind of had a hand in that. When I first met Gage, she was a kid, and I was so engrossed in him and what he had to teach me, I kind of ignored her, too. I shouldn't have done that. I should have been more observant, more sensitive to her. I should have paid attention to her."

She shook a finger at him. "Goren, don't you dare take ownership of what Jo became. That was Gage's doing. She was his daughter and his responsibility. I'll bet she was well on her way to psychopathy by the time you came around."

Slowly, he nodded. "That's fair. But I still feel bad for ignoring her. Maybe if I'd paid some attention to her, she wouldn't have chosen to target you. That _was _my fault."

Eames shook her head, annoyed. "We've been through this. What happened to me was _not _your fault and I've apologized for blaming you."

He stared at the tabletop beside his plate. "I'm not looking for any kind of apology from you, Eames. You don't owe me that."

She took a drink of coffee and wrapped her hands around the coffee cup. "I admit I hated Gage for what his daughter did to me, because ultimately, that was all on him. Even more than that, though, I hate him for what he did to you, for teaming up with Nicole and framing you for Frank's murder under the guise of 'saving' you." Her tone intensified and became more passionate as she tightened her grip on her cup. "You've been through enough, and he made it worse. He betrayed you in the worst way, and I will never, ever forgive him for that. The only thing I don't hate him for is for what he did to Nicole. With that, he did us a favor."

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Did he?"

"You don't think so?" she challenged, trying not to react until she knew exactly what he meant.

He hesitated, then answered in a quiet, guilty voice. "She killed my brother. I would have preferred to see her go to prison for what she did, to be properly punished for her crimes. I think she got off too easy. And now...well, who's being punished? Certainly not Nicole."

She didn't misinterpret the bitterness in his tone and she felt reassured that his emotions were in the right place. "We've dealt with her before; we'll deal with her now. As long as we face her together, she'll never win."

He held her gaze for a long time. After all the grief he'd caused her, she still remained steadfastly in his corner, ready to face adversity and defend him against the world. He gave her a soft smile, trying to hide the guilt he felt. Gently, he reached out and took her hand. Raising it to his lips, he softly kissed her fingers.

She felt the soft touch of his lips travel like an electric charge to the center of her body, where it radiated to places he had yet to touch. It had been such a very long time since she'd felt so drawn to a man. Nicole was a serious threat to him, and she was determined to do whatever she could to keep him safe from her. But she had never been able to insulate him from her, and she was worried about him. It had been a long and winding road to where they were right now, and somewhere along the way, he had worked his way into her protected heart. All she wanted to do now was keep him alive, with her, so she would not have to bury what was left of her heart in another grave.

Releasing her hand, he turned back to his lunch. Perhaps Nicole was jealous and angry that he was getting closer to Eames, but in a real way, she was the one who was responsible for it. If she hadn't pushed him in front of that truck, Eames would still be in New York. He wouldn't be sitting here with her now, and he wouldn't know how much she still cared for him. He might possibly have never known. Still...he was determined to remain between her and Wallace, to defend her against the threat Wallace posed to her. Except for Eames, he had lost everyone who meant anything to him. He was not going to lose her, too. Whatever happened, he would do everything in his power to see that no harm came to her, no matter what it cost him.

* * *

Melinda sat at the kitchen island as Jim cooked dinner. He looked over his shoulder at her. "So, you like this city cop?"

"I really do. He's a sweet man. He's not sure about what's going on, but he didn't dismiss what I told him. He's open-minded."

The doorbell rang, and she went to answer it. Rick Payne came through the door, shrugging off his raincoat and hanging it on the coat rack. "Tell me some more about this mist," he said without preamble.

"Hello to you, too," she said with a laugh. "I don't know anything more, except that it doesn't seem to stray far from Robert."

"His ghost, she's strong?" He headed toward the kitchen. "Something smells good."

She followed him. "She's very strong and very dangerous."

Rick waved at Jim as they entered the kitchen and he speculated, "So, could this mist be another ghost? A new ghost, maybe, one that isn't quite so strong yet?"

"That makes sense. But it seems to be gaining strength quickly, from what I can tell. At the very least, it's becoming strong enough to protect him from Nicole, and that's making her very angry."

"And a lot more dangerous," he agreed, grabbing a piece of carrot from the salad on the kitchen island. "What's for dinner?"

"Rib roast," Melinda answered with a laugh. "Would you like to join us?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Goren stepped out of the shower, toweled off and pulled on his boxers. Stepping to the sink, he noticed a glass of water beside the pill bottle that held his pain medication. Eames. She did her best to watch out for him, but more than that, she honestly cared. That was more than he could say about anyone else in his life, and that had been the case for as long as he'd known her. No one cared about him more than his partner did. He stopped short of admitting she loved him, though, because if he allowed himself to dwell on it, he would only cause himself more grief. It was enough for him to admit that she cared.

He dumped two of the pills into his hand and swallowed them with the water, doing his best not to dwell on the fact that she had stepped into the room, for whatever reason, while he showered. He felt a surge of desire and struggled to chase it away.

He opened his shaving kit and looked in the mirror. Turning his head to the side, he examined his bruised face, lightly touching the area of dark discoloration that surrounded his eye, extending up into his hair and down almost to his jaw. "Nice," he grumbled as he took out his shaving cream and set out his razor.

He looked back at the mirror and turned a little to the left, examining the extensive bruising the truck had caused. He lightly touched his hip, where the bruise went down to the bone, then he looked at his side. Fractured ribs caused him a lot of pain and more bruises covered most of that side of his chest. _What a train wreck._

Bracing his hands on the sink, he hung his head and closed his eyes, slowly drawing air deeper into his lungs. When it began to hurt, he drew in a little more air before he let his breath out slowly. Focusing on the pain, he repeated the process, pushing it a little further each time.

A knock at the door broke his concentration. "Bobby? Is everything okay in there?"

He paused for a moment to give the searing pain in his chest a chance to settle so he wouldn't worry her. "Uh...yeah, fine, Eames. I'm just shaving."

"Oh. Okay. Give a yell if you need me."

He hesitated for a moment. "Eames?"

"Yes?"

He looked at the closed door. "I always need you."

There was no response. Then, the doorknob turned and she pushed the door open just far enough to poke in her head. He motioned for her to come in, which she did. Stepping to his side, she looked at his reflection, at the extensive bruising on his body. She rested her hand on his stomach. "You were lucky," she said softly.

"I've been lucky for a long time," he answered, looking at her in the mirror. "I just never realized it."

Moving from his side, she grabbed a towel and, leaving it folded in half, she laid it on the toilet seat and motioned for him to sit down. She picked up the can of shaving cream, shook it, and dispensed some into her hand. She rubbed the cream into a lather in her palm and then tenderly applied it to his face. After rinsing her hands, she picked up the razor. As she drew the sharp edge across his face, he closed his eyes. Lilac mingled with the scent of the shaving cream, creating a new scent in his mind that would forever be arousing.

Slowly, she scraped the razor's edge over his skin, rinsing it in warm water between each stroke as she cleared the stubble from his face. After drawing the razor over his skin in a final sweep, she set it beside the sink and grabbed a clean towel. He opened his eyes as she gently wiped the remaining shaving cream from his face. Running her fingertips over his smooth jaw, she searched for any stray whiskers she might have missed. He watched her, his eyes smoldering, and tipped up his chin slightly, a silent invitation she was free to ignore.

Her heart skipped a beat when his face moved closer to hers, however slight the movement. His meaning was clear to her, and she leaned closer, giving him the kiss he obviously wanted. He slid his hands along her legs, pulling her against him as he slipped his tongue past her lips. Her arms encircled his neck and she caressed his bare skin. When she drew back, he released her, though reluctantly. With a soft smile, she stroked his lips with her fingers and whispered, "Get dressed. We don't want to be late."

He watched her leave the room and softly groaned. Another shave like that and he would implode. Moving carefully, he slowly dressed. He stepped out of the bathroom, stopping to watch her as she leaned over the desk toward the mirror to apply mascara to her lashes. Her beauty, to him, needed no enhancement, but he said nothing. Lifting his bag from the floor, he set it on the bed and pulled out a tie which he slid beneath his collar. He continued to watch her as he skillfully secured his tie with a Windsor knot.

Eames gathered her makeup into a small bag, zipping it closed before she turned to her partner. With a smile, she reached out and straightened his tie, smoothing it with the flat of her hand. He leaned toward her to kiss her again. He wanted more of her but she wasn't willing and he accepted that. He understood that she was unsettled at the thought of Nicole Wallace lurking nearby.

"Ready to go?" she asked as she broke the kiss again and stepped back.

He released her, his tension palpable, which concerned her. "Bobby? What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he replied with a shake of his head. "I, uhm, yeah...I'm ready to go."

She didn't move, waiting for more of an explanation.

He touched her arm, steering her gently toward the door. "Now isn't the time," he said softly.

Finally, she gave in and let him guide her from the room.

* * *

The leading edge of the storm had rolled into Grandview sometime around four. A huge storm front loomed behind it, accompanied by loud, rumbling thunder, intense ground-to-cloud lightning and gale-force wind. The sky was black with roiling clouds. Rain fell lightly at first, becoming heavier as the storm moved into the area. It now fell in torrential sheets that made it difficult to see.

As Eames drove toward the address Melinda had given them, she was troubled by the apprehension she sensed in Goren. Unlike her, he loved storms-the more violent, the better. Several years ago, they'd gone to Miami, following a lead in a case, when a hurricane made landfall. His excitement had been contagious, even though she didn't particularly like storms. But now, his apprehension interfered with his enjoyment of the huge storm. On some level, Eames realized, Goren was aware of Nicole Wallace, and that bothered her. His odd connection with criminals always bothered her, but it was even more troubling with Wallace.

She pulled to the curb in front of the house and parked. Then she turned to Goren, who was deeply distracted, touching his arm. "We're here."

He looked at her for a moment before her words registered and he shook off his distraction. He rubbed his temple and took a moment to gather himself while she waited, not rushing him.

He was in no hurry to exit the car into the storm, and he took the time to reach out and grasp her hand. She didn't pull away. He wanted so much to tell her how he felt about her, but the words were lost to him. He wasn't even sure the right words existed to describe what was in his heart. Every phrase that came to his mind seemed woefully inadequate. But he felt compelled to tell her something. His thumb stroked hers as he watched the frequent lightning illuminate her face. With a soft smile, he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers and said, "You...You're beautiful. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you, but it must have been something damn good."

"You should give yourself more credit," she said with deep affection. "You never deserved to be miserable."

He shrugged. "It's just about all I know any more."

"Well, then, we'll just have to change that."

His eyes almost glowed as he smiled at her. "You're more than welcome to try."

"I accept the challenge." She gave him a quick kiss, then pointed toward the house. "There's Melinda. Let's make a dash for it."

He arched an eyebrow. "I'm not in any condition to be dashing anywhere," he complained.

"Are you saying you can't keep up with me?" she retorted, a teasing smile on her face.

Raising her hand to his mouth, he placed a soft kiss on her palm. "I'm willing to try," he answered.

Eames slid out of the car, coming around to Goren's side as he got out. Thunder rolled across the sky as the worst part of the storm bore down on Grandview. Eames started toward the house with Goren just behind her.

On the porch, Jim and Rick joined Melinda as the wind whipped around the house. Rick looked up at the violent sky. "Wow, this is some storm."

Melinda stepped closer to the railing, her attention focused out in the yard where Wallace had appeared. Jim moved to her side. "What is it?"

Before Melinda could respond, Wallace rushed at Goren. The mist, lingering opposite Wallace, just beyond the detectives, moved to intercept. As it did so, it took on more substance and hit Eames hard enough to send her sprawling away from Goren.

As Eames hit the ground, she turned in time to see her partner disappear into a thick fog that settled over the yard. "Bobby!"

She jumped to her feet and ran toward the foggy area, only to be knocked away. Jim reached her side and pulled her to her feet, half-forcing her toward the porch. "You can't help him," he told her, shouting to be heard above the howling wind.

Eames focused on the fog as Jim and Rick each held an arm, keeping her on the porch. She searched for her partner, but the fog was too dense and she couldn't find him. "No..."

* * *

Goren became disoriented as his surroundings vanished. The yard, the storm, his partner, everything was gone. "Eames!"

She was nowhere in sight. He spun around, searching in vain for some kind of landmark. He only saw gray. A searing pain suddenly ripped through his gut, and he heard voices, far in the distance-Wallace screaming, "Get away from him! He's mine!"

Another voice, a familiar one he couldn't quite place, responding, "You have no claim on him! He belongs to her!"

With a groan, he sank to his knees, weakening as the white-hot pain sapped his strength. "Eames..." The darkness at the edges of his vision was rapidly expanding. "Forgive me, please, forgive me."

The pain became unbearable as a bright light exploded behind his eyes and then everything faded to black.

* * *

A bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, showering the yard with sparks. "What's happening?" Eames demanded, still unable to see Goren.

Melinda moved to her side, so Eames could hear her over the storm. "I don't know. I can't tell."

"I thought you could see the ghosts," she snapped angrily.

"I've never experienced anything like this," Melinda confessed. "I can't see anything inside that fog."

"Is Wallace there?"

"Yes. She's with him, somewhere in that fog."

Trying not to panic as fear gripped her heart, Eames asked, "That mist, where is it?"

"It was with him. It's the only thing that can protect him."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

Sadly, Melinda shook her head. "No. Nothing."

She looked back out into the storm, finally seeing movement at the edges of the fog. Wallace emerged from the thick fog suddenly, a look of horror on her face. As she backed away from the fog, dark shadows emerged from the ground, grabbing at her. She began to scream as the shadows engulfed her, dragging her down into the ground, and she was gone.

Melinda covered her mouth as she watched, horrified. She had seen the shadows claim souls before, and it always horrified her.

The fog in the yard faded away into the wind. Goren lay on the ground, face down and not moving. The mist still hovered close by. Eames pulled away from Jim and Rick, running off the porch to kneel at Goren's side. Jim was right behind her, kneeling across from her. He quickly assessed Goren's condition as best he could. "Help me roll him," he said.

Eames and Rick helped roll Goren onto his back. Another few moments and Jim looked at Rick. "Let's get him inside."

The two men carried Goren into the house with Eames and Melinda following. On the porch, Melinda turned to look back into the yard. The mist was gone. Across the yard near the street, a lone figure stood, watching as they carried Goren into the house, but before Melinda could make it out, it vanished.


	9. The Ghost in the Mist

Jim and Rick laid Goren on the couch, then Jim ran to get his first aid kit. Meticulously, he took Goren's blood pressure and listened to his heart and lungs. "Should I call for an ambulance?" Melinda asked as she handed her husband a blanket.

Jim nodded as he covered Goren with the blanket. "That's probably a good idea. That lightning strike was very close, and his lungs sound a little coarse. He should be checked out."

Eames walked around the couch as Jim moved out of the way. She sat beside her partner and watched him with worried eyes. "Is he all right?" she asked.

"I think so," Jim answered. "But we don't know what happened to him out there. I'll feel better once they check him out in the emergency room."

Sliding her hand into Goren's, Eames looked around the room. "Is Nicole here?" she asked warily.

Melinda shook her head. "No. She's gone."

"Gone where?"

"Into the shadow realm. Instead of crossing over into the light, she was taken by the shadows. She won't be back."

Eames was relieved to hear that, but her relief was short-lived because she honestly didn't know how Goren was going to react to that news. The most consistent aspect of his relationship with Wallace was his unpredictability, which she also felt was the most frustrating.

Goren groaned softly and began to move. Eames turned her full attention to him. She rubbed her palm over the back of his hand as his eyelids fluttered and he groaned again. He shivered as he opened his eyes and coughed a few times to clear his lungs. She touched his cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Like I was hit by another truck," he groaned, coughing again.

The siren of the ambulance cut through the storm sounds outside as it approached and pulled into the driveway. Jim met his co-workers at the door, letting them into the house. Goren slowly sat up as Eames shifted to sit beside him, still holding his hand. Jim talked briefly with the two paramedics, explaining what happened, before they approached Goren. He shook his head and waved the two men off. "I'm fine," he said. "I don't need an ambulance."

"Why don't you let us take a look at you?"

He started to protest, but Eames interceded. "Let them," she said softly, squeezing his hand.

His jaw was set, but he nodded. "Fine, but I'm not going to the hospital."

The paramedics examined him and ran an EKG, then argued with him for ten minutes, trying to convince him to let them take him in. Goren was stubborn, though, and refused. The crew chief looked at Eames. "Are you his wife?"

She shook her head. "No, but I'm staying with him, if that makes a difference."

He looked back at Goren. "Since your girlfriend is willing to keep an eye on you..."

"She's not..." He stopped, no longer completely certain what she was to him. Looking at her, his expression softened. "She takes good care of me," he admitted softly.

After writing on his clipboard, the paramedic handed it to him. "Sign your refusal for me and we'll head back to the station." He looked at Eames when Goren took the clipboard. "If anything concerns you, call us or take him directly in to the ER. Everything looks all right, but his injuries from the truck could be masking more recent ones."

"I'll take care of him," she assured him as he took the clipboard back.

She watched the two paramedics walk to the door with Jim and Melinda, then turned her attention to her partner. "Do you have to be so bull-headed?"

"Yes." He smiled. "I am okay, Eames, I promise."

Jim and Melinda returned to the living room as Rick came out of the kitchen with a glass of water, which he offered to Goren. "Thanks," he said. He drank the water, then looked at Melinda. "Nicole—was she responsible for this?"

Melinda perched on the coffee table and nodded. "Not the storm, but what happened to you, yes. You got caught between her and that mist. There was some kind of dense fog shrouding the yard and none of us could see you. I don't know what happened between them or what they did to you."

"Is she here now?"

"No," she answered. "She's gone."

"She crossed over?"

"Not really. She was taken by the shadows."

"The shadows?"

"I don't know a lot about them, but they're not pleasant. It's horrible to watch a soul being taken by them." She shuddered. "I have nightmares about it."

Eames thumb stroked her partner's. "Are you sure she's gone?"

"Yes. The shadows don't let go of the spirits they claim. She won't be back. But the mist...the mist is gone, too."

Goren frowned. "Did the shadows get it, too?"

"No. Apparently, the mist was a hiding place for another ghost, but I didn't get a good look at who it was."

A new voice spoke up from the other side of the room, a voice only Melinda could hear. "I'm his brother."

She turned toward the voice. A man stood near the window, a nice-looking man, with wavy brown hair and kind eyes. She looked at Goren. "He's here."

"Wh-Who?" he asked. "Who's here?"

"Your brother."

A shadow crossed Goren's face. "Frank?"

Eames also scowled, tightening her grip on her partner's hand. Melinda didn't know what to make of the reaction of the two detectives, but Frank was not surprised. "I don't blame him. Our mother got sick when we were kids. She was never the same after that. He was seven; I was ten. He was so little and so scared, so lost. After that, I was pretty much all he had, and I watched out for him. But then, little by little, as we got older, I slipped away until I was gone, and he had no one." He looked at his brother. "Tell him I'm sorry. I wish I could go back and do it all over again. I would do a lot of things differently."

Melinda turned to Goren. "He said he's sorry. He'd do a lot of things differently if he had it to do over."

"Wouldn't we all?" Goren answered.

He was tense, cautious. Frank appeared on the couch beside his brother. His expression was soft with deep affection. "I don't expect him to forgive me. I don't deserve that." He paused. "Look at him. He's a cop. He did something good with his life. And me? I was a gambler and a junkie. I wasted my life, but Bobby? He made something of his. By all rights, he should have been worse than I was. He was so little when Mom got sick, and Dad never showed any interest in him. He was always getting into trouble as a kid. He turned to alcohol and drugs younger than I did. But something, something happened to him to turn him around. I was never that lucky." He smiled, his eyes shining with love and pride. "See how he turned out? I wish I could say I had a hand in that, but I didn't. It was all him. I'm so proud of him. Will you tell him that? Tell him I love him, and that I am so sorry I let him down."

Melinda said, "He says he's sorry he let you down, that he loves you and he's proud of you."

"Frank..." Goren said softly, his demeanor changing. He spoke his brother's name with a mixture of grief and regret. Eames squeezed his hand tightly and he squeezed back, struggling to sort through the emotions that suddenly assaulted him.

Melinda lightly touched his knee, which was close to hers. "He can hear you, if you have something to say."

What was there to say? "Frank, I...I'm sorry, for what I said, for not being a better brother."

Frank leaned forward to look at his brother's face. "You have nothing to apologize for, little brother." He looked at Melinda. "When we were kids, I took care of him when Mom couldn't. I tried to keep him out of trouble, but he only got wilder. I was the older brother, the one everyone expected everything from. Bobby had the freedom to be a screw-up, and so he was. When I went to college, I started hanging out the wrong crowd, doing the wrong things. Slowly, I lost my grip on my life, but somehow Bobby got a grip on his. He took care of Mom. He buried Dad. He turned out to be the responsible one, and all I ever did was cause him pain." He looked at Melinda. "I didn't know who Nicole was when she turned up at my door. She...killed me, to mess with him. She loved to mess with his head, I found out. After I died, once I realized what was happening, I found my brother, and I realized what was going on, what Nicole was planning to do. So I protected him, and Eames, but I didn't want Nicole to know who I was or what I was doing—not until I knew he was safe. This doesn't make up for all the times I let him down, for all the disappointments, but maybe, someday, he can forgive me."

Melinda's expression was kind, her eyes moist with unshed tears. "He knows he let you down so many times. After Nicole killed him, he found you, and when he realized what she was doing, he protected you."

"And Eames..."

Agitated, Goren pushed his fingers through his hair. Eames squeezed his hand and rubbed her hand over his arm, but his voice was still tight, accusatory. "You abandoned Mom, Frank. She only wanted to see you, but you never came. You couldn't even show up at her funeral. And Donny...what was the point of keeping him from us?"

"I guess I just didn't want you and Mom to know I screwed up again. Besides, Donny was better off with his Mom in Pennsylvania. I was wrong. Maybe I'm out of line, but...please ask him to take care of my son, the best he can. Tell him I wish I had been a better father, a better son and a better brother, a better man. I just wasn't strong enough. I know it doesn't mean anything to him, but I am so proud of him." He looked at Eames and smiled. "She means so much to him. Tell him not to be afraid to love her. Mom's gone. He needs someone to love. And tell her she could do a lot worse than loving my brother. He has a lot of love to give, a lot of love that was never given back to him because we were all too busy looking past him."

Melinda nodded. "I'll tell them."

Frank got a distant look in his eyes. "Wow—what is that?"

"Do you see the light?"

"Yeah...is that for me?"

"Yes, it is."

Standing, he took a few steps toward the light. "Mom? Hey, Bobby, Mom is there, in the light, and she looks great, happy and healthy. Take care, little brother. I love you."

He continued into the light. Melinda returned her attention to Goren. "He's gone. He said your mother is in the light and she looks healthy and happy. He asked me to tell you he wished he'd been a better brother and asked if you could watch out for his son. He never told you about him because he didn't want you to know he'd screwed up again. But he is proud of you and he loves you, and that's the bottom line. That's all that really matters now."

Scowling, Eames said, "So he gets to rest in peace now?"

Goren closed his hand around hers. "It's okay, Eames," he said softly. "I'm glad he's found peace. He never knew it when he was alive."

"Kind of like you?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Kind of like me. We fell off the same family tree, almost."

Melinda said, "I have one more message. He doesn't want you to be afraid to love her. You need someone to love." Her eyes shifted to Eames. "He said his brother has a lot of love to give. Let him give it to you. He protected you because you mean so much to Robert."

Eames looked at him, but he was looking down, at her hand joined in his. He tightened his grip and raised her hand to kiss it. Only then did he raise his eyes to look at her. Without looking away from him, Eames asked Melinda, "So this is all over now? Nicole is gone, and so is Frank and that mist?"

"Yes, it's over. All the ghosts have gone."

"You're sure they can't come back?"

"I'm sure."

"So, can we eat now?" Rick asked.

"Oh, no...dinner..." Jim rushed to the kitchen to pull his roast from the oven.

Melinda laughed. "Are you hungry?" she asked Goren.

He wasn't sure if he was or not, but he couldn't be rude to Melinda and Jim. "You went through all that effort. The least we can do is eat."

He looked at Eames for confirmation, and she nodded. "Yes, let's eat."

Melinda and Rick went into the kitchen as Eames helped her partner to his feet. When she stepped away, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him, against his chest. As she slid her arms around him, he touched her chin, tipping her face toward his to kiss her.

When he withdrew from the kiss, he looked covertly around the room. "Nothing blew up or broke," he said.

With a laugh of relief, she gave his arm a playful smack, slipped her hand into his and led him to the dining table to join the others.

* * *

**A/N: Just one more chapter to go, folks. So, how many of you guessed that Frank was the ghost hiding in the mist? :-)**


	10. If You'll Have Me

Happy noises of friends gathered for a nice meal punctuated the dinner. Eames participated in some of the conversation, but Goren remained withdrawn. Eames tried to get him to join in, but he only offered one or two word answers. The evening's events weighed heavily on him, even though he'd initially been all right.

Halfway through the meal, he excused himself and asked for directions to the closest rest room. Eames looked at his mostly untouched plate and sighed sadly. Melinda leaned toward her. "You care about him," she said.

Eames nodded. "Yes. I do, even though he frustrates me. He trusts me with his life, but he won't trust me with his heart. I don't think he's ever trusted anyone that much."

"He's had a hard life," Melinda said.

Eames tried to swallow the resentment she always felt when anyone found out more about her partner than he had seen fit to reveal to her. "What else did Frank tell you?"

"Not a lot. Just that Robert had a troubled upbringing. He was a screw-up as a child because he had the freedom to be one. He was always in trouble, but somehow, he straightened out his life and made something of himself. Frank said he wasn't able to do that with his own life. He wanted you to know that you could do a lot worse than loving his brother. He has a lot of love in him to give, love that was never given back to him because everyone was always too busy looking past him to return it."

Melinda's words rang true, and Eames felt her heart clench. Every little peek she got into her partner's past made her want to draw him closer, hold him and never let him go. "Thank you," she said.

Goren returned to the table, looking pale. Eames laid her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I feel..." He paused, looking at his plate. "I don't know how I feel," he finished weakly.

"Maybe we should go. You should lay down and rest."

He couldn't argue with her. He felt drained and there was no part of his body that didn't hurt. Eames looked at Melinda. "Dinner was delicious, but we really should be going."

Melinda agreed. "We understand. Stop by the store before you leave town." She looked at Goren. "I still have your things."

"Oh, yeah. We'll drop in before we go."

As he rose, he faltered a little. Eames grabbed his arm and Jim came around to his other side. "Are you sure you don't want a ride to the ER to get checked over?"

Goren nodded. "I'm positive. I just need to rest."

The storm was still raging outside, but Jim walked them to their car. As they passed the place where Nicole and Frank had fought their final battle, Goren faltered again. Jim grabbed him, supporting him the rest of the way to the SUV, and helped him into the car. "Okay?" he asked.

Goren nodded. "Thank you."

Jim looked at Eames, who gave him a grateful smile. "I'll take care of him," she promised.

"Call if you need anything," he offered.

She nodded as Melinda hurried across the lawn and handed Goren a covered plate. "Here. You might get hungry later."

He looked at her wearily, but gave her a warm smile. "Thank you, Melinda."

She returned his smile, then stepped away from the car with Jim. They hurried back to the shelter of the porch, watching the car pull away from the curb. Then they went back into the house.

Goren rested his head back and closed his eyes. Eames glanced at him, then reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "Bobby?"

"Just tired, Eames," he replied to her concern, placing the plate Melinda had given him on the console between them. "Very tired."

She heard the fatigue in his voice and saw it in the way he carried himself. She parked as close to the hotel as she could, surprised that he wasn't asleep by the time they arrived.

As physically and emotionally spent as he was, Goren was too keyed up to rest. Too much had happened, and his mind was racing. They got out of the car and went into the hotel. Eames started for the elevators, but Goren grabbed her arm. "I'll be up in a little while."

She looked at him with concern. "But..."

"Please. I just...I need a few minutes to myself."

She hesitated, but finally nodded. "All right. I'll be waiting in the room."

He touched her cheek tenderly, and she gave him a small smile before she walked away.

* * *

Eames wasn't sure how much time he needed to regroup. Actually, she wasn't sure exactly what was best for him at the moment—time alone or time with her. Maybe a bit of both would be best for him. Though he was exhausted nearly to the point of collapse, she could tell he was too wound up to relax. Otherwise he would have been asleep before they got back to the hotel. It wasn't unusual for his mind to usurp his body's need for rest, but she was still worried about him. She waited for a little over an hour before she went searching for him.

She found him sitting alone at the far end of the bar, plagued by what she had no doubt were dark thoughts and probably even darker memories. His past didn't have many bright moments. Heaving a deep sigh, she crossed the room and slid onto the stool beside him. The bartender came over and she ordered a vodka martini. Goren did not react to her, which did not surprise her.

When her drink was delivered, she nodded at the bartender. "Just add it to his tab," she said with a smile.

The man looked at Goren, who nodded. Eames sipped at her drink for a little while in silence, trying to decide the best way to reach him without sending him further into himself. Her martini was half-gone and he'd gotten another refill when she finally spoke. "Bobby, what happened out there, in Melinda's yard?"

He was silent for a long time, toying with the coaster under his drink. Finally, he answered, "I...I couldn't find my way. It was...I was living a recurring nightmare." As he continued to talk, he became more agitated. "I was...uh, you...you were...I couldn't find you. And there were voices...Nicole's...and-and Frank's. She said I was hers but he wouldn't give me up. All I wanted was to find you, but...I...I couldn't. And then...there was pain...a lot of pain...and the only thought in my head was that I'd let you down—again. I'm sorry."

She reached out and stroked his arm, hoping to calm him. "You _didn't_ let me down."

Her attempt to reassure only increased his distress. "Come on, Eames, be honest. That's all I ever seem to do. You...You could do so much better..."

She touched his mouth, silencing him. "You need to let me decide what's right for me in my life."

He studied her face, his gaze moving from her eyes to her mouth and back. He moistened his lips, wanting very much to kiss that mouth, to explore her body...but he forced his thoughts down a different path. "Frank...He told Nicole that I...I belonged to you. What do you say about that?"

She ran her fingers lightly along the side of his face. "Why don't you tell me how you feel about it?" she said softly, bringing her face closer so he could hear her.

"I think..." He closed his eyes, feeling the world spin around him. He was at a crossroads with her, and he finally decided to take that final leap. Either she would be there to catch him, or he would fall, hard and far. "I think he was right...that is, if you'll have me."

She leaned in and brushed her lips over his, which sent his senses into overload. "That's a no-brainer for me," she replied, placing a moist kiss in front of his ear before teasing his earlobe with her tongue. She slid off her stool. "Bobby, I know what you need," she said softly, her mouth close to his ear so he could hear her. She pushed his drink away. "And you're not going to find it at the bottom of that bottle." She gently nuzzled his ear, nipping at his earlobe. His soft groan flooded her belly with warmth. She continued to whisper to him. "I think you've had too much of that and not enough of what you do need, what will do you the most good. I'm not going to tell you what to do. You're a big boy and you can make up your own mind. So it's your decision. Whatever you decide, I'll be upstairs, waiting for you."

She nipped his earlobe again and began to walk away. He reached out suddenly before she stepped beyond his reach and pulled her back, a bit more roughly than he intended. She stumbled back into him, but he ignored the pain that coursed through him when her body hit his. He kissed her softly, as a means of apology, teasing her lips with the tip of his tongue. She parted her lips, letting him in, and he deepened the kiss, but when she pulled away, he let her go. She smiled, catching his gaze with a heated look, and she left.

He stayed where he was for a little while longer, finishing his drink, but he couldn't get her out of his head. Paying his tab, he left the bar.

* * *

When he got to his hotel room, she wasn't there, which he didn't understand. Had she changed her mind? He was sorely tempted to return to the bar, but the bed was just too damn inviting. Deeply fatigued, he decided he just wanted to sleep, even though that had not been his intent when he came upstairs. He stripped to his boxers, downed a dose of medicine and crawled into the bed.

Eames had left the room to get a bucket of ice. When the machine by the elevator was out of order, she discovered, much to her annoyance, that the next closest machine was on the floor above theirs. By the time she returned to the room, he was there, sleeping, which surprised her. "Two minutes, Goren," she chided gently. "I was gone for two minutes."

Setting the bucket of ice in the mini-fridge, she changed into sleep clothes, turned off the lights and crawled into the bed beside her exhausted partner. Snuggling into his side, she ran her fingers lightly over his chest and belly.

He stirred. He was used to sleeping alone, so he woke quickly when she joined him in the bed and began to caress him. Her feather-light touch was arousing. With a soft groan, he turned onto his side, toward her, seeking her mouth. She didn't make it hard for him to find it. He made another soft noise that turned her insides into warm liquid, and she kissed him with passion.

He responded with equal passion, pushing his tongue past her lips and his hand into her clothes. With a groan, she arched into him, encouraging him.

He worked off her clothes with her help, desperate to be inside her, and she welcomed him with an enthusiasm that sent his head spinning again. It didn't take him long to bring her to the edge, quivering and pleading with him to keep going. When he backed off, she threatened him instead, and he gave her what she wanted, then satisfied his own burning need.

Breathing hard, she lay in his arms with her head resting on his shoulder. The pain in his body abated with his climax, and he felt better than he had since his encounter with the truck. As she relaxed, she gently stroked his hot skin, kissing his temple and his ear, which relaxed him as well.

"Are you awake?" she whispered.

"Uh-huh," he replied sleepily. Then he opened one eye and looked at her. "Did you think I did that in my sleep?"

With a sly smile, she answered, "I hoped not, but with you I never know."

He chuckled, then groaned. "Please don't make me laugh," he complained, holding his side. "I hurt enough."

Smiling, she softly kissed him. "How's that?"

He slid his arms around her and squeezed. "If you do that every time, you can make me laugh whenever you want."

She snuggled she snuggled against him. "Are you feeling any better?"

"About what?"

"Anything. Everything. I don't know. Don't make me work for this, Bobby."

He sighed softly. "I need to work through some things, to think about them and then sort through how I feel. I'm not where I need to be. I'm not even where I want to be. But I'll get there."

"Can I help?"

"I don't know how, but thanks for the offer."

She kissed him tenderly, lingering as she caressed his chest, and he relaxed. He turned onto his side, pulling her close against his body. He moaned softly, a welcome sound of deep contentment.

"You're coming to terms with what happened to your brother?" she asked.

He nuzzled her hair. "I am, but it's not something I can manage overnight."

She nodded. "It took awhile for you to deal with losing your mother."

"This is different. I...I was at odds with Frank. The last thing I told him..." He was ashamed at the memory of what he'd told his only brother. "It wasn't nice. I never had the chance to make up with him."

"Until tonight."

He kissed her head. "Yes. Until tonight. I'm glad he found peace."

"I'm glad you feel better because he did. So, what are you going to do without that guilt to hold you back?"

He smiled at her teasing tone. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure something else will turn up."

She laughed, which brought another laugh from him, followed by a soft gasp of pain. She worked her way up in the bed so that her face was level with his. Her hand, soft and cool, caressed his side. He released a soft sigh and closed his eyes. "Better?" she whispered.

He nodded. The burning pain eased when he relaxed under her caress. "That feels good."

She continued her ministrations and asked, "So, what's next?"

He forced his eyes open, blinking sleepily. "Next?"

"Yes, as in, where do we go from here?"

"Uh...back to New York?"

She drew her nails lightly along his side. "I mean with us."

"U-Us?"

She continued to stroke him with her nails, and he shifted closer, easing himself between her legs with a soft groan. He tickled her side, which made her squirm, increasing his arousal. Pushing his shoulder, she coaxed him onto his back and straddled him. "Let me know if I hurt you," she whispered.

He only nodded, already far enough ahead of her that pain was not an issue. What little that did manage to work its way into his awareness only enhanced his release when it came.

* * *

Cuddled in his arms again, she continued to caress his side. His fatigue was nearly complete, and he began to drift toward sleep. She whispered, "You never answered me."

"Mmnhm? What was the question?"

"What's next for us?"

"Oh...you wanted a more long-term answer?"

"You're funny."

He tucked her hair behind her ear and caressed the side of her face. His eyes half-closed, he answered, "I don't know what the future holds any more than anyone else does. All I know is that, whatever comes, I want you with me, if-if you'll stay."

She rested her chin on his chest. "What are you saying, Goren, in plain English?"

"In plain English?" He gave it some thought, trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase what he meant. "I love you. I can't be any more plain than that." He didn't know where to look, except that he didn't want to look at her, to see what might be in her eyes. "I, uhm, I need you, and I want you, and I don't know what else to say. All I know is...I want to be with you for the rest of my life, however long that turns out to be...that is, if you can put up with me."

Taking a chance, he glanced at her, surprised to see tears in her eyes. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

She moved suddenly, kissing him firmly. Then she eased the pressure, continuing the kiss more tenderly. He touched her cheek as she drew back. "You said exactly the right thing," she whispered with love in her voice. "God help me, but I love you, too. As much as I tried not to fall for another cop, I did. You just made it so damn hard not to love you, even when I was furious with you. The times that I wanted most to scream that I hated you turned out to be the times when I loved you more than I ever thought possible."

He stared at her, not sure he'd heard her right. "You heard me right," she confirmed. "I love you, too, and the rest of your life isn't long enough."

She settled herself into the pillows and guided his head onto her chest. He made himself comfortable, choosing not to dwell on their conversation. She stroked his hair and his back, and he draped his arm across her. His breathing evened and deepened, and his head felt heavier against her. She snuggled into him and drifted to sleep as well.

* * *

Melinda looked up from the arrangement she was working on when she heard the door to the shop open. She smiled brightly. "Robert, Alex, hello. How are you feeling, Robert?"

Goren returned her smile. "I'm all right. We, uh, we're going back to the city today, and we wanted to thank you for your help."

"It was my pleasure. Wait here." She went into the back, returning with the painting and a gift bag containing the snow globe and Hummel he'd purchased his first day in town. "Here you are."

He accepted the wrapped items from her. "Thank you, uh...for everything."

Melinda nodded. "Take care of yourself, both of you."

They left the shop and he walked Eames to her car. She unlocked the doors and he set the bag and the painting in her back seat. At her curious look, he said, "Those...are for you. I wanted to apologize, and to thank you."

"For?"

"Everything. You...I mean, I...I owed you an apology, and you get mad when I try to say the words, so I thought these would be...nice. You'll like them."

She looked at him for a few moments. "You're something else, do you know that?"

"If you say so."

Leaning up, she kissed him, teasing the hair at the nape of his neck. He rested his forehead against hers and asked, "Can I take you to dinner tonight?"

"I would love that."

"Drive safely. I'll pick you up at seven."

"See you then."

She walked around to the driver's side and opened the door. Giving him another smile, she slid into the car.

He watched her drive off and walked to his own car. Looking around the square, he thought about his brother and their mother, both healthy and happy, living in the light. When thoughts of Eames entered the mix, he smiled. For the first time in many years, he felt in control of his life. For the first time he could remember, he was happy.

_fin._


End file.
